Curioser and Curioser

as the dew dropped tulip two-steps over my tongue

so a pubic slaughter of moonbeams and drag queens

leaves so little space in-between the longing

hung, low slung, below the eaves of this curious abode

 

where pregnant questions await the gaunt relief

of a crucified thief who has chosen his flavour

so sure the house has fallen on the queen of the east

love thy neighbour with the curtains tightly closed

 

I’ll take all the time I need to be me

but spend so little of it while cheap beauty costs so much

blue in the face of an airless address

every berry ripe hue caulked in a glassy vacuum of it’s own

 

at an age where it’s easier to count your broken teeth

than piss in the street please

scream down every avenue as your retinue has a propensity to carrion

never too slow to encourage a fatal stupidity

 

this flesh walking, free, in the air

is so far from that and stands as echo? shadow?  indentured

to the soil and from there who knows whence?

who cares?

 

my attention you can barely call a span

as it rarely makes the other side of any a stream of consciousness

no song can bridge the collapse or plot the route from a to b

never mind the x y and...what was it again?

 

so I sit at quarter past ten and hear an echo of the prodigal 

ponder which way my thoughts have run

dancing for the gallows pride wild with Oscar in his Gaol

...zed

 

now with the fowl roasting and vegetables on the boil

I leave the radio on, to read Lear to the kitchen walls

abstractagingmemorysexuality

◄ What Angels?

Hole ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message