Go StewI stare at God,
His twin primed barrels.
There's a black on some blonde,
In a red maserati.
I kneel at the tawdry altar,
The air is thick with drugs.
A spaniel cocks his leg
Against the font.
The girl with a luminous face,
Switches off the electrical light.
Dust mites breed in the vacuum cleaner's bag.
A sack of cash,
A burning bush,
A pistol in the cistern.
Marty has a tooth missing.
Posting no reward,
God is a model rocker,
A Billericay fraudster,
Stubbornly sporting
Unfashionable flares,
Cos what goes around
Comes etcetera.
Then again,
At the zenith of his fame,
This person
Picking dictionary holes
And flawed semantics,
Peppers the Go Stew
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FlavordayPlay hide and seek with suffering,
Dodge brickbats,
Steal the cash.
In a flash.
Mind-hashed, stewed,
Dribblin', stoopid,
Wherezitgone?
The stash?
Upstairs in an anteroom,
Cassandra, mocking time,
Says:
Space is out, man. Space is out.
We've eaten, now let's dine.
Smug drugs juggle with my mind,
Kerlatter out of place.
Zippy to slug-struck,
Here's everything again.
Men from the ministry,
Morose in sticky coats,
Muscle you onto the trolley,
Prod at your belly,
Make some notes -
Longhand, no questionmarks.
We slip,
You and me,
In disease of choroform,
Malformations,
Surgickly bested,
Time-outworn.
Then, stumbling,
Humbled,
Ketchup fac Flavorday
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Paperchase 321I am shot through with the pain of self - knowing,
Years and years of frantic failure,
And all those inner lies,
Embraced like a newly full glass.
"Not my fault! Not my fault!"
I swoon at the feet of every cheap temptress,
For I am cheaper still,
Rejoicing in the lacerations of remorse,
"All my fault! All my fault!"
And when I speak to you sober,
My words chill the air,
In drink, my soul is stripped bare,
In drink, I can care. Paperchase 321
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Sta.sh
So cool!
