Get out your crutches and your crack pipes,
curl your wings and get divine,
and get dependent on your signposts and your pendant,
and your velvet ass, you pedant.
Now rise. Give thanks to dreams of stars and stripes,
enlightened sense of sin,
eclectic judgement.
Electric, repugnant and raw.
My flowers are scentless, my senses ecliptic,
My ego relentless, and so solipsistic.
My actions, my words
from my bitumen brain
drips freely this cud of contempt.
I blanch at the rain and I crack at my whip -
watch them wrench at the reins
of the tamed and the tired;
and my cudgel is gold and on fire,
but it's snapped down the centre
and is cold as a winter in Russia.
So usher me into position and aim,
with words of sedition, contrition, disdain -
be wretched and shameful
and gorgeous.
***** |
