Victor Hugo, I Have Seen Your Cock

What would your therapist say if she could see you now
But you don't have the money she would charge
So she will stay on her side of town and you on yours
Dressed in your fancy clothes that you inherited from your father
There is a hole in the wall covered in the sludge of an office man
A book of erotic verse was left in the cubical by the boy
With illustrations by Francis Bacon painted midway through a personal war
Thieves and high octaves documented for the next generation
No one will remember the last decade's sirens
Evil riots are turning grey beneath the sound of the rock and roll band
We all have to wear jackets and masks to keep out familiarity
We all smash the watches and clocks to keep out the time that we miss
Drunk in the day on the premonitions of the future
Every second is a worry on your shoulders, a bruise that keeps returning
A moan against the wall is a planet that holds itself up on an angle
The children can't see that the time to run has started
Reality runs on a meridian along a pulsating rod that bends to one side
I remember the actor who now drives the ambulance car
He picked me up by the waist and wore shirts that offended the buffet staff
His halo was much bigger than his smile but his laugh was always there
His kiss could undress me and break the promises of my love
He fascinated me because we were looking for the same thing
And when I was empty he could fill me
When I was struggling he could wipe the sweat off me
Though there was no music in his voice
And there was a curious bounce in the way his eyes scanned the room
When he left I could taste the blood
And I laid my head on the chest that wasn't there
I smashed all the watches and the clocks
And I thought of the presents that he never brought  me
I thought of all the wine that he stole from me
Different men wiped their brows in the shade of time
I was draped in the rolling memory of what used to be in this city
A city that is vain and full of sunshine or snow
Full of empty space and vacant expression like the looks on the driver's faces
The birds all fly hard into the wind
And magnetised embraces cause the clocks to stop