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
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