Saturday, July 03, 2010
supermarket terrorist consciousness
it is a bad time in the season of your throat
this is not that gag about Linda
Linda don't inflect yourself
on the crabshelf of lingual attack
a brother points age 4 says look
there there is a lady a tiny lady at night
she is just there across the water
you could almost have reached her with your fibres
but then nothing this is not that nun thing
that done thing that fling that they sing about warm beer
not there but here you hear
in far rooms the hoovers come and go
humming of Michael I worked in a hotel
in Israel
we plundered their fridges oh hell
feasted on their remains
the MFO and UN boys from the North
their scrota emptied into the well of Eilat
flat-feeling uncertain they went back
leaving steak and beer and plastic gin
always better after they leave she told us
their money left behind with their semen
floating out towards Aqaba
and the animals all running dry not that
it mattered cigarettes are cheap and days are long
full of whiteness everyone speaks a white sibilant
language under the breath and no one here
ever quite gets to it—occasionally the outburst
but that is nothing just the soldiers come home
late at night with lost keys for headbutting the door
open competitions the Norwegians were best
at this for their running up while the Americans
didn't wish for the same bruises but would be cruel
to the feral kittens round the lobby one morning
the Golden Gate got sploded all to bits we almost
but then a bag by its alone in the bus station
bricked up the Dung Gate long aloof
only spiders now listen ahoof listen early one morning
the gate explode the sire got shraps and flaffs
all up hizarm
he don't blame no one for not comin back
it's late after all
was just hopin for a party
he an Linda an Mike
once on a beach my sister belinda she pissed out the winda
the wind erased it all
anyone wanna fuckin arm wrassle
see him with the arm
lookin out on the bay
with all that attitude
the pigeons come here to drink they would say
they go back there to shit
no way of knowing what's best
not ever
.
this is not that gag about Linda
Linda don't inflect yourself
on the crabshelf of lingual attack
a brother points age 4 says look
there there is a lady a tiny lady at night
she is just there across the water
you could almost have reached her with your fibres
but then nothing this is not that nun thing
that done thing that fling that they sing about warm beer
not there but here you hear
in far rooms the hoovers come and go
humming of Michael I worked in a hotel
in Israel
we plundered their fridges oh hell
feasted on their remains
the MFO and UN boys from the North
their scrota emptied into the well of Eilat
flat-feeling uncertain they went back
leaving steak and beer and plastic gin
always better after they leave she told us
their money left behind with their semen
floating out towards Aqaba
and the animals all running dry not that
it mattered cigarettes are cheap and days are long
full of whiteness everyone speaks a white sibilant
language under the breath and no one here
ever quite gets to it—occasionally the outburst
but that is nothing just the soldiers come home
late at night with lost keys for headbutting the door
open competitions the Norwegians were best
at this for their running up while the Americans
didn't wish for the same bruises but would be cruel
to the feral kittens round the lobby one morning
the Golden Gate got sploded all to bits we almost
but then a bag by its alone in the bus station
bricked up the Dung Gate long aloof
only spiders now listen ahoof listen early one morning
the gate explode the sire got shraps and flaffs
all up hizarm
he don't blame no one for not comin back
it's late after all
was just hopin for a party
he an Linda an Mike
once on a beach my sister belinda she pissed out the winda
the wind erased it all
anyone wanna fuckin arm wrassle
see him with the arm
lookin out on the bay
with all that attitude
the pigeons come here to drink they would say
they go back there to shit
no way of knowing what's best
not ever
.
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