Michael Slater 3

By | 23 September 2001

the prophecies will not be fulfilled
i see this now with clarity
everything is clear to me
the blood was not rich enough
too much sun too much
sun i must make my bat smaller
more compact weigh it down
it is too light i will
reinvent the game
jon bon jovi comes to mind
i met him once in a dream there is a
spring in my step i will
move at speed across my crease
no the direction does not matter
only the leap itself
and the arc of the bat as i move
as i leave the ground the angles will
ideally be acute there is a figure
coming towards me i believe i have
been expecting it father i was
expecting someone else
i am feeling sharp
willow blade i will
pierce the field a dead burro with
a double puncture mark in its neck
the infectious beat of latino-pop a very
small cow you are my son
michael its your own
dad mick there is this lowing
in my head that wont go away
i am a blade of grass
the cattle speak to me they are wise
like the seagulls that sweep across
my vision as i stare up into the sky
for hours on end if only they had built
a roof over headingley this is a very good bat
i am zorro a jedi i am not untroubled
things are not at all as i had imagined them
one day my innovations will be appreciated
i am ahead of my time
the world is not ready
i must revert to using a
straight bat this is very hard for me
i have been places that have not
left me unchanged i have seen the cotswolds
i will never use a straight bat again
father i will never use a straight bat again
i will change the face of the game
tap dance around the chimneys
i will sleep in my coffin by day
i will drink only the blood of the aristocracy
it is weak blood and it does not satiate me
it barely serves as food for my bats i need
to be on edge
i will be an example to the children
jackie chan bono no not him
i can not stand the company he keeps
i am tortured
by the threat of fascism i am
finding it difficult to concentrate
i am a little confused as to where i am
and what i am doing i have a burning desire
to clasp in frustration at my forehead
and rip out my hair my hairline must recede
i will be distinguished
in all that i do
i will not let the kids see me with lines of blood
down my chin i admire robbie williams ich weine
mich die augen aus i can not
come to grips with any of this
i have forgotten what i was going to say
i am a cow like nietzsche before me
i have immense thighs and the butchers
keep cutting pieces of flesh from them
it is lucky i have learnt to regenerate
it keeps me lithe and leaping about
i do not even remember the pain
it is plain to see that my back lift
is all wrong everything is moving
at cross purposes i no longer know which
direction is north there are forces pulling me
toward the dressing rooms
that i do not begin to understand
yet i have no idea in which direction they lie
i wander the suburbs
spit in the face of stephen waugh dig
my fangs into his calf
he only wishes he was me

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