I - The Sound Abattoir
Crisp fractal, sunlight
on new-day sweat.
No one inside knows
about the new day yet.
Forms jerk and spin
and they toil not.
Skeletons can sway
with impulse 'til they rot.
Crush-a-pill with rosy tint
to last you all the night.
Catch-a-number 'neath your tongue
and later you'll revive his Fright.
Pleasure, fleshly grimace
scours the brain against the skull.
Apartment movement never stops
and starts and sweat-sheen from the pull.
II - O Androgyne
I cannot see the world for his broad face.
The smell of sulphur would be welcome but
To choke the alcoholic reek he brings
By clutching him to me in slick embrace.
I gain his absence when I ask for breath
And he, the smiling nitwit, must consent,
So I duck to the streets with haste and breathe.
A moment in my father's sight is death.
He could not know the life that I now lead,
And all the misery I rail against;
My form is set upon the grind of days
To starve in hard-brick walls of earthly need.
Moonlit perversion strips charm from the sick
And faces all too masculine leer back
From windows; prostitutes with glitter hair
As deathbed cries of need cut down the quick.
III - A Solomon Grundy Secret
I will be, as a child,
Crushed under black boot
and throttled with Belt.
Taught to be the Man we were.
I am, as a man,
disciplined with the
and icegrip of
solitude. No one knows
my stigmata better than
the Romans that wash
their hands of me.
too late to
utter any-thing of