nowadays they have to pinch the ends
of their cigarettes before they cross the threshold no longer allowed to herd the crumbling swarms of ash across the gingham veldt
outside the window, on the pavement, lies a bible and the radio declares their readiness is high
seems like a good night to let the smokers in and warm around a last embered light
on the table I browse the “priest“ they called him
in the centrefold, deep in the heart, a flyer,
man’s journey into christ,
I guess we’ll find out soon enough the veracity of the divine
but until the young-un and the white horse riders have decided who can piss the highest
leave us to the daily diary and its tales of
days of ******* each other’s husbands and wives
I bought a Dylan Thomas book one the way home, from the junk shop,
when I got it back I saw blood on the back cover
I licked my finger to wipe it off but she said “no!
you fool“
sure it carried the plague of some cursed lover
I plagiarise myself
a drink is most definitely in order
the tawny coolness tock tick toxic keen as the sharpest dissection
and then you can find me not just like everybody else but just like
everybody else, lying, hemi-hydrate, below the bridled tension
of life’s meniscus
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
nowadays they have to pinch the ends
of their cigarettes before they cross the threshold no longer allowed to herd the crumbling swarms of ash across the gingham veldt
outside the window, on the pavement, lies a bible and the radio declares their readiness is high
seems like a good night to let the smokers in and warm around a last embered light
on the table I browse the “priest“ they called him
in the centrefold, deep in the heart, a flyer,
man’s journey into christ,
I guess we’ll find out soon enough the veracity of the divine
but until the young-un and the white horse riders have decided who can piss the highest
leave us to the daily diary and its tales of
days of ******* each other’s husbands and wives
I bought a Dylan Thomas book one the way home, from the junk shop,
when I got it back I saw blood on the back cover
I licked my finger to wipe it off but she said “no!
you fool“
sure it carried the plague of some cursed lover
I plagiarise myself
a drink is most definitely in order
the tawny coolness tock tick toxic keen as the sharpest dissection
and then you can find me not just like everybody else but just like
everybody else, lying, hemi-hydrate, below the bridled tension
of life’s meniscus
waiting for the world to end in a greasy spoon
