For Stupid, Sour Cupid
Rocket toothpaste on our lips and Stupid, Sour Cupid scratches at the window Guns explode within the closet and we rush for the sea side Where the liquid foundations are chemical floorboards Ready to melt beneath our grasping, gasping forms Here we lie in merit and honour- lost in what is seemly delight Here behind lies of dead ancestors and the costumes of yesterdays flash Do you believe? are you a believer in the dreamers and cloud counters? Do you walk the sodden carpets to where the door stands ajar? Allowing darkness to be the metaphor for Hephaestus' extinguished flames Things here are tight and things here are stretched Like a root bound elm tree forcing its way through rock and pavement We are the lovers and the swearers and the stained cigarette smoke Moaning and moping through streets unthought of Where great dead men bow down to the poets and the naked soldiers Hairy chests are combed by the winds from arrows And we all feel alive as a melody is plucked...