The Tree Of Satisfaction

Smeared lipstick stains the tomb
Of the thick lipped poet who shines light
The angels bark and grin at the children in the street
Dreams hold my hand and asks me how I feel
The baker undoes the Rosemary boys fly
On this cool morning in September
The Elm tree stays where it first shot
Through the pavement and up to the gutters
But lately She feels as though she may fall
Onto the bald head of the Scottish Politician
Who talks to God- through a hole in the wall
A vibration runs through the wooden floor
Up the legs of a mongrel friend biting the hand of the
Harvest Goddess, now addicted to opium tipped cigarettes
Shipped from Egypt by her cousin the Jew
He was exiled there for standing on a soap box
And spouting poetry, written by TIMOTHY himself
Somebody who was merely asking questions of himself
And the thick lipped poet, the muse.
The baker's pants are on the floor, though his heart is on the roof
His bare arse is hot with the heat of the oven
The smell of Rosemary can be smelt coming from the mingling sweat
That lands between the two pairs of lips
A dog is bitten by a pagan goddess and sacrificed to the season
The weather changes
And a new wind picks up the skirts of the barking angles
That spin and fly around the children who feel a rumble in the clouds above them
The Scottish Politician walks from a cottage smiling, God on his mind,
Only to be broken into a hundred parts of man
By the tree of satisfaction
And Dreams hold my hand and ask me how I feel
'There is a Jew, in Egypt, spouting my poetry to a population of heathens
I feel simple and brilliant within this crumbling city, under a crumbling sun'
And somewhere, near a bakery, an elm-tree sucker breaks through the pavement
and feels the coolness of fresh scottish blood run past it.