Darby Crash Missed the Downfall of the Western World By 24 Hours by John Doyle

I thought of the loneliest place,
stuffed it up with dreams of you, 
I nailed my dreams to a precipice
a saint was pushed from - a book tells me he wouldn't renounce God
or scream when they shoved that sword up his ass.
I hope his fall was short, his landing soft, 
his destination San Francisco
that day I got 7 straight hours of sunshine there.
It's not the loneliest place, not a swarm of dreams 
that make you wake suddenly, 
feeling your way around a couch or looking out the car window
at dawn beating you to day's first light, 
and I stuff this place with dreams of others,
the unsaintly
breaking easily when the sword goes up their asses,
the ones my brother tells me not to be bitter about 
when we do coffee,
looking for distractions like "Darby Crash missed the downfall of the Western World by 24 Hours".
He doesn't get me, doesn't know what it means, our coffee getting cold.
I dream on - recklessly, madly, like this red car that nears me.
Fridays shouldn't be this way

 John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.

He is based in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. All he asks is that you leave your guns at the door and tie up your horses before your enter.