From ivory towers
to the streets of Paris
the hopeful and hopeless
devour what they've gathered
they all want their chance on the parade
but on epsilon streets it only rains
erroneous stale induced calm
of tropical hibiscus and cool lemon grass
in neat little packaging
and the suits milk their crops
and shout
make me king!
yeah one day I'll be king!
and none of this will mean anything!
and the lions will all be tamed!
because they all want their chance
their chance on the parade
the young and the widowed
the lonely the echos
our self induced coma
oh god give him soma!
oh give him some functionality
his cold lips feel no reason to breathe
the reason
the treason
vociferous silence  
buy one get one free
or sit there in silence
because everything's on offer
there's nothing to scoff at
the birth of today
for the death of tomorrow

The virtuosity of the words you spun
lead me directly to the *****
and as I looked at its blade
so shiny and big
I thought it rude not to obligingly dig
so I dug and dug
and dug dug
until my hands were blackened and cold
and then I lay down in the pit
and waited
to wither
and old.

Soft lips quiver
and deliver to the air
perfect gift

the ring of smoke
whose happiness unbound
knows that she has touched your lips

the circle takes
and reminds us all
of perfect symmetry

as she spins and revolves
piruetes and unfolds
our eyes blink happy.

this is some kind of torture
I felt like Alex must have
when they had him strapped in]
and poored drugs in his eyes
and showed him images he had to learn to despise

but he didn't wanna learn
and neither do I

Lipstick
Cigarette
******* kisses  
In low light bars where the only witness
is your own **** conscience
and how she loves to tease
draws you down to your knees
before snarling her teeth.

Expired words
from time to time
still find a way inside

Hyperbole
you said to me
reprise irrespectively

of the fact they died
and should have been forgotten
but some of rot
and some of them blossom.

Taxidermist!
You haven't earned this
You  haven't earned the right to decide
whether my burial should be feral
Or not at all
Instead stand tall
Stuffed with white cotton wool
On the plaque it says your name
Not mine or my family's
I should have been buried beneath the trees
With the earth and the dirt
So new life could germinate out of my death's birth
But instead look at me now
I'm just a coin in your pocket
A note in your wallet
And for those who want it
A source of passing fancy
That is if they ever do get bored of the TV
But hopefully,
If they do see me
They question the perversity of it all
And wonder...

Who spends their time stuffing cotton wool into dead animals?

The girl who created the circle
also wrote the bible
yeah she told me so
she told me this shortly before we kissed
but I never saw her again.
No.

Recently deceased house parties
whose floors are still sticky and covered in card
with socks taped to smoke alarms
because it's too cold to smoke outside...

They witnessed the death of chivalry
and they witnessed the birth of ****
and they witnessed free love in the 60's
but what's happening here -
this aint love.

This aint love.

We are an army of droids.
We like to **** wherever we can.