Wednesday, 17 September 2008

Radioactive Bookshelf

Right, say, look this way at certain thing you bring
Then that way at next thing and thing
Turns to be no “thing” expected than what’s
In front of your radioactive bookshelf
That warble red green bloooo –
You will find the old radioactive bookshelf
And it will find its poems
Miles and miles away on some London day
Where a musical parliament hates the bass
Wall-voices – that could be us!
With our heroin socks miles and miles away
On some terrible day watching us go by
Kept divine by the best generations,
These demonstrations wake in morning –
Dartboard stomach shoots by –
Headache-stricken scarf wound hot,
Rock n’ Roll screaming red tongue
Sausage roll screaming tongue red,
We touch the Universe with callused fingertips
Tip: open toilet door with pinkie –
Feel voices remember like afterwords,
Forewords word words worming their way in;
And now the stark bright naked voices with a gun
Your parliament hopefuls are deaf next thing and next
To nothing the body kept divine by practise
Of darting away, half-used, half-abused,
Half a person in trouble
Hoping someone will call to me.

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