Friday, 27 July 2012

David Longlegs

Lavender spike shoved hard
down the throat (‘Here enjoy this, scumbag!’)
tickles the soul with thoughts
of sectarian dismemberment.

The rose petals stitched to eyes
belie the state of affairs between neighbours
and their barking dogs. (‘Mine’s a pit-bull;
he’ll tear your arse off for breakfast.’)

I dine simply on the bark of willow
(‘Eat boy! Eat your vegetables!’)
that grows like dying piano chords
out my sprouting nostril channels.

I drink the nectar of squished bees
in case they spread this flowering disease
across the landscape of human spines and tongues.
The yellow and black husks I dangle
from my rear vision mirror; drive down roads
packed fresh with road kill, scream at old ladies
who push the pedestrian light’s button.
(‘Get a life before death gets you, bitch!’)
At night while chewing the remains
of my hibiscus, letting the chewed bits dibble
between reddened lips, I light the fireplace
with my mucus, watch as it dangles - green stalactites
quivering like skinless kittens dumped
in a back alley -and compose letters to my dead
father’s friends (‘You owed him money you shits!’)

I cannot go to bed
for fear my nightmares
may be the truth.

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