A painting is a horde
Of destructions
Said Pablo Picasso
And I stay here with
Whore's deconstructing
The constructions
The cellar door
Booted in
By an El Paso Jailbird
On a large charge
Finger finding a switch
But no hits
Her photoed tits
Post shower cop off
Hairdryer plugged in
Bunched towel
The kids back from the monkey run
This time I shower
And feed them change
And from under covers
She tells the eldest to straighten
The painting
Ties shoes
Let the hound out
From this bathroom window
My dog chases 'em
She shouts in
The cellar's got guests again
I know they're back
They will chirp
Cheep chirrup.
Wednesday, 15 February 2012
Sunday, 5 February 2012
Padre Nuestro
Dolled and tuned
Check
Through a wind
Bills building unsettled
Sheltered I
Chose sopa and two bottles
The place had started
Saints had listened
To south American rezo's
But for another's sake
They couldn't place
That part on a common map
Two different directions
East arrow faltering
Before a set
This was why they thought
The world was round:
A gate over her décolletage
Fitted in fabrics
Melody puppetry
Those cinema scenes
Where they don't speak
And your head eats itself
I should of skipped the casting
Fired the agent
And gone dressed as a dog
When a chanteuse sees
These soft pupils curl
In a heavy tĂȘte
They compose.
Check
Through a wind
Bills building unsettled
Sheltered I
Chose sopa and two bottles
The place had started
Saints had listened
To south American rezo's
But for another's sake
They couldn't place
That part on a common map
Two different directions
East arrow faltering
Before a set
This was why they thought
The world was round:
A gate over her décolletage
Fitted in fabrics
Melody puppetry
Those cinema scenes
Where they don't speak
And your head eats itself
I should of skipped the casting
Fired the agent
And gone dressed as a dog
When a chanteuse sees
These soft pupils curl
In a heavy tĂȘte
They compose.
Friday, 3 February 2012
Laying on hands (Not of)
Getting sniffed
And seen through glass
The bolt
Or mad surge
Take a stance:
Knees on the floor
Mains together
Virgin Maria?
Santo Antonio?
The weight of waiting.
And seen through glass
The bolt
Or mad surge
Take a stance:
Knees on the floor
Mains together
Virgin Maria?
Santo Antonio?
The weight of waiting.
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
For That Year
Fitzgerald full stopped at 44
With coco covered mains
Smudged prints on the Princeton Review-
Big Scott got $13.33
The year before
And Ernie
The hardheaded prick
Couldn't make it to his wake
So Francis Scott
In death
You received
What you asked
But couldn't see
That one you had thought
Had fucked off
Fame.
With coco covered mains
Smudged prints on the Princeton Review-
Big Scott got $13.33
The year before
And Ernie
The hardheaded prick
Couldn't make it to his wake
So Francis Scott
In death
You received
What you asked
But couldn't see
That one you had thought
Had fucked off
Fame.
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