Monday, 22 June 2015


I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world
A madman. A crazy madman.
A sweaty-toothed madman.
I close my eyes and this image floats beside me.
A sweaty-toothed madman
with a stare that pounds my brain.
His hands reach out and choke me
and all the time he is mumbling.
Mumbling "Truth. Truth, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold.
You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough.
You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us.
From the moment we enter crying
to the moment we leave dying
it will just cover your face
as you wail and cry and scream.

Don't you forget this.


  1. I like the idea expressed here of truth like a blanket. (Keating misquotes Whitman: roof - not rooftops. I'm not a pedant, despite this observation).

    1. Please be a pedant with regards to facts, there are too few left in the world. And it is the idea of truth as a blanket is exactly why I like this quote!