pointed,
everything you
write pricks
the atmosphere
and plumbs
the poison
well of hell.
torture!
like a bonsai master
papyrus into parabola
paraphrase to paralyse
gifted master
with down-side in
parasol plumbing
phallic reverse
pricking
pay attention.
the patient student
likes to piranha.
Stamp. Stamp. Stamp.
I am territorial about things.
Space. Space. Space.
None for the human race.
O. C. D.
Oh! L. C. D.
What do you know about me?
I live in futon town.
Wanna come round?
Climb to the precipice
hang on the cliff face
of my tongue.
oop-see.
Didn’t I moan through my lungs?
Didn’t you have a good time?
I am territorial about things.
Pieces. Pieces. Pieces.
Fearsome rampages.
Freak. Mild. Freak. Mild.
Time to unwrap
Do you like what’s on the inside?
A turning wheel..
Another schpeel.
Pink. Red.
Heavy as lead.
my unmade bed.
Surely, you have read?
I am territorial about things.
Your movement puppet
is an expression
of the freedom I desire.
Time to call in the big guns.
Cock a leg.
Pissing on territory.
I lie.
Can you see the lie?
While I writhe beneath you.
A frenzy.
Hardly a reality.
I can’t even see your face.
I know that it busies itself, all the while.
With that abyss – the centrefold.
I see just the editors cut.
In out.
Intro/ outro.
I’m a porn star.
I know not what I are.
Nor you…
“Who the fuck are you?”
… I think to myself…
Forgive me I know not what I do.
Weight…. Yours. Wait!
I know what I need.
The road to…
Give me more head- onism!
A straight arrow.
Weee… weee
Round the merri-go-round.
Down the slide.
Down the line.
Hard and fast – I like it.
Like I like it.
A champion.
I can’t feel if I am whet.
But your face is, I guess.
I slide my finger into it.
Met by the insistence of your tongue.
It warps and morphs.
Oh what fun!
Except, who the fuck are you?
Old Nick?
Give me a nickel and a dime.
I’m no prostitute.
Nick my stuff and you outta here pal.
But, oh, what the fuck.
Is that insistent tongue doing now?
You are speedy – but not prompt.
In the mist I glimpse.
In the midst of it all a groan.
A sea – as white as coke.
Fuck, it clicks into place.
I’m fucked.
This is blow shag.
Beneath the sheets.
Lies the plate.
Space/ time continuum meet.
I know who the fuck you are.
See-sawing between my legs.
My mirror and my muse.
Animus.
My mind is off.
My lips are numb.
Did you put some there?
Risks.
Risqué.
Salt in the wounds.
You rock back and forth.
I’m a child again.
In the playground.
This head makes me ache.
Your razor top,
Insistent tongue.
China!
Plate.
It’s really just me.
And I have no idea.
Who you are?
I am your Jesus
I am your Judas
It’s every Yin Yang
And all the children sang
“Praise the Lord,
dont strangle
us with your umbilical cord.”
But the Lord,
- the Lord wasnt listening,
he was playing with his sword
and deciding the fate of the world
Betray me Judas,
save me Jesus
Hold the mirror up
I’ll drink then of your cup
A child of the dusk
meets a child of the dawn
with the lies that lie in that lust
And that which is the day
and that which is the night
May no woman tear asunder.
Not with all her might.
Not with her motion.
Tell him she has might.
Tell him she has motion.
And all the children sang
“Praise the Lord,
please dont strangle
us with your umbilical cord.”
But the Lord,
- the Lord wasnt listening.
He was playing with his sword
and deciding the fate of the world.
The ice rattles in my empty glass,
like the rattle snake in my dreams…
The one that ate the spider,
with the sequin-red clitoris?
Staring down the vacuum of this glass, ever
I’ve got night fever, daylight dreamer.
Puppeteer and musketeer,
Brandishing murder and magpie treasure.
Pawn and prince,
Wicked and clavier.
My soul is pinched in a doorway
I’ve got night fever, with sequins
and an ache.
This is but the beginning,
This is just the first drink.
The bottom of the abyss I’m starting to know,
it looks like the floor of a bar,
the view from the bar-stool.
I’m throwing off these shackles,
I’m throwing off these blades,
Clothes of hindrance
and I’m no longer the prince.
I am spider, woman.
With a sequin-red clitoris,
And a big heart, clutching this rattle-pole.
Hands open, soul porous.
A man talks and a girl wishes
She could die.
After sampling a memoir,
biography of biographies.
Cool winter rain
Soaks the cracking lumps of soil
that have forgotten the sun.
As the tiny shards of
mirror tinker
from the sky glass,
a hand is poised
to capture these reflections
– a hand, a fist
a prelude and a second act;
and the shadow of blood.
Acid mood and high heels.
Too much coffee
Not enough cigarettes.
Won’t you pour me a Sex on the Beach?
Tonight I’m feeling too cynical to be cynical,
Too tired to be wired.
Swimming then dripping
(dew on the inside).
Life is all that it feels in this silly,
little Trojan war.
A human tragedy.
I’ve been eating away,
gnawing at the little bits.
Danger anger.
Poignant release of happiness,
an underbelly, underexposed.
What is it that pulses
and burns like before?
A flip of the switch,
a flick of the bic,
and I was inverted, perverted…
Perversion could have gone further,
almost murder.
I’m standing here
Wrapped in the towel
You gave me,
I want to give you away…
Mmm to solitude.
This floor is quaking, (I’m breaking)
Geometry gone awry.
Tell me baby this time,
Who’s the poor guy?
I can’t be the metaphor for love
A simile,
You ask of me,
The edge on loneliness…
Cutting break.
This floor is quaking, (I’m breaking)
Geometry gone awry
Tell me baby this time,
Who’s the poor guy?
I’ve been from hero to zero
More than a couple
Times the thyme this time
A cool, cold line.
This coke is knocking
At my door,
I’m too tired not to let it in
Too jaded to care,
One more I cry and one, one more
For once
This floor is quaking, (I’m breaking)
Geometry gone awry
Tell me baby this time,
Who’s the poor guy?
A pagan sacrifice
To the monster of myself
Oh, ja, that’s it,
You got it baby,
I’m that prawn
In that game,
Twisted, bitter, lame
It’s ok though, (I’m breaking)
And the geometry is gone…
I can give you light
If that’s all you ask for.
I can show you something
That requires only trust.
Leaps of faith like this
Are often too much –
Even for the Enlightened.
Sometimes the darting
Fly fish lure dancing
on the surface of your heart
is mistaken for darkness’s craving.
Oh, that ever tempting darkness
That cascades down
Like the nurturing warmth
Of a collapsing body
Into a soft bed.
Then the stunned limbs,
Betrayed,
Are ensnared, captivated –
Possessed.
I have slept with darkness too…
I have fallen privy to its intoxication
The madness of its quantity.
It is addictive, mad, spindizzy
And feels ineffably desirable.
It is also full of vice and folly.
Now I skirt the periphery –
Dipping into darkness’s shallows
Aware that one more time,
too many…
and borders dissolve,
whirl pooling to the core.
What is it about the darkness
that the light does not seem to own?
I can show you light if that’s all you ask for.
For Light and Dark are mirrors for another –
Displaying each to each.
But light remains different
It vibrates, resonates … liberates.
And it is most recognisable
To those who have known its reverse.
You ride me like patriarchy
And I moan, I moan, I moan.
I am a thousand women
Bound to the leather of your couch
Thrust in-between this and the next
Playing second fiddle to the pouch,
Oh, oh, oh, ouch.
Put it there again.
You know I like it, fuck yes
Fuck no, it’s coz I got no where to go.
At pleasures moments notice
You’re up and leaving, I’m just arriving.
It’s rude, but not as rude as this.
My voice is drowned out by
The shudder swimming down your spine
And I’m gagged, this time, and the next,
Fuck yes.
You know the score coz that’s all I am.
I’m left dripping you…
A secret combination for an every-lock
The chicken comes home to roost.
And a thousand women just like me
Flash through my mind,
Row upon row, the gag-rag
Reflecting the carriage of patriarchy
Can’t you see?
Riding from up there,
Stampeding through the ripening crop
How you ride my womanhood
The crusader, SS, militia, the cop
The daunting everyman should.
It’s still the same love and patriarchy
It’s still the same you and me.
I moan, I moan, I moan.
Rape is different when it’s everyday.
In every place and every way.
And we are tired, and fired.
These gags and the gag is on you.
