Consolation - Barry Andrews

Christ, here comes the storm again that lacerates the heart:

The savage wind of ‘really nothing doing'

Pray for us the blighted: all the failed in love and art

Who question everything they were pursuing

When the black dogs come for you

Well, what else can you do

But downwardly revise your expectations?

Just kiss the sickly little rose

And hold her steady as she goes

As you light out for those lands of Consolation

All the aching moments when it didn’t go your way

(we saw it all and none of it was pretty)

Now you hear their voices in the gruesome light of day

With the wheezing, cheap harmonium of self pity

And there’s some sad things known to man —

And quite a few are sadder than

The sodden Paggliacci’s ruminations —

But still you’d have a heart of stone to leave the poor clown on his own

With half a bottle left of Consolation

When you’ve failed to consummate

The wedding of the soul

Or any other union you may yearn for

Let the baby demons come and stretch you on the coals

There’s nothing else you’d really care to burn for

Well it really isn’t fun

And it comes for everyone

It soils the sheets /hauls you off

Despite your protestations

But all the Saints of Legoland;

The Poundshop Martyrs hand in hand

Will wash you in the seas of Consolation

Satan in a monster truck

Jesus on a bike

All these things are sent to test your mettle

Half-mast flags in Whitehall

Or your head upon a spike?

Depends on where the dust is when it settles

All the things you struggled for

You can check em at the door

Get ready for a dubious sedation

It’s all designed to reassure:

The bingo and the talking cure

As they walk you round the grounds of Consolation