Words of varying strengths fucking and punching one another, lighting cigarettes and putting on coats. All creating shadows that we call poems with a queer read on them.
You are drained So come sit down Tell me about your day Tell me of the friends you love The friends who use you For beer and cigarettes But you keep ‘em around For their talk and their laughs And some of them you love Some of them you would do anything for Even if they say things that make you cringe Things that you would never say You know they are the water That puts out the fire That fuels the hell within And when those friends get too much When the beer and the drugs Become a thorn in your milk white skin Come home to me And tell me what a drag they are With a symphonic voice And Cohen on the stereo I will cook a home made soup While you ride the wave of vexation And i can turn the record over And tell you all about The story behind the songs of Cohen Or Joni, Neil or the Band And how The 60’s wouldn’t have happened Without Canada And I will wait for your look That wonderment That you won’t give to those friends Who use you And sing songs from the ...
Fool triumph. Succeed at the ideals of loss. Canter upon a horse. My horse. Work in denim wings. A completes the Z. Silence becomes a time bomb. Fondle genitalia. Gutter Music Crescendo. Back track on the raw memory brain. Canter upon a horse. My horse. Orientate the novelty of responsibility. Dress the gesticulator in smug. Fondle genitalia. Kick the kicks. Climb stairs to branches of military. Lick the encyclopedia butterfly. Incarcerate the corpse of Gregory Corso. Stick pages of holy book to headlight. Use Semen. This street is a sunny graveyard. The gullible travels. Steal back reality from the T.V. station. Paint the planted plant. The Alpha completes the Omega. Dive into the pool of trouble. Straddle Midas and feel your arse become golden. Canter upon a horse. My horse. Fish the transvestite’s confession. Castrate the Apes who believe. There is reason on the lip of liberty. Draw circles on the squares of nature. Validate reality. Fondle genitalia. Dig a hole to the core of p...
The Moon is the greatest of Transvestites She holds the bruises of school bullies Her makeup is better than any lady you will meet Better than my bullish sister Better than the painted prostitutes of media Better than the young men of music The Moon she gets up on stage once a month Puts on her sequinned show Parading and dancing and showing us the theatre or romance and space And then she will slowly draw her blinds Closes her door Allows herself to rest Sitting on her favourite lounge Wearing her favourite satin gown Watching reruns of an old detective show I love The Moon
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