No-one would be expecting it. Not
Henry, Not Delilah, Not Summer, Not Eramus, Not Mr Thank. Neil might manage it
though, he hardly knows you. I think you know how he walks over to show her off
to her glad rags filled with clover and true blue lesbian starch. My mind gets
up to all sorts of sneaky shit while you all sleep in your snug space shuttles,
repeating the adages of past societies and civilisations with all the authority
of a nubbin. Ask around while you can. No-one will be expecting that. They thought
better of you; they just can’t see why you opened up the windows that kind of
summer breeze.
After a while
the streaming takes a syringe-like form, pouring out of the inner-self with
druid sparks and limpid pools of hot water, climbing up to boiling point just
to impress the girlies and their ribbed factions. The xylophone reminds me of
credit card adverts and, in doing so, draws buckets of sweat out of my
prostate. No-one told me about the way she lied and cried and howled at the
hollered-out mask of a twice-spent actor on the way to the garbage heap as far
as latex is concerned. Though they all knew that the repeats would recur and
concur and show her visitations to be merely acting lessons from clear-eyed
thespians, we have better authority now. This authority wears a guitar and
plays it sometimes just to bother film school trips. And what did we say about
violence? Seriously we can’t remember, jog our memory for us why don’t you. Get
on the forum.
We’re turning
down the bail bondsman because of his choice in sunglasses, that and he is a
machinist prick with black sails for sale and a through-route to the cops just
to tell them the matters as they crop up. We dentate because we love him and we
long to wear his socks as proof of purchase. All the pieces are ready and armed
in their lingerie and pebble formations. Gold elevator doors, that’s where they’re
headed and about to get snuggled up.
The cur
of all queens, Lily, wants to strap the rest of your mainframe down to the
table and repeat after you until climax. This monkey business is in her veins,
through her arteries for some reason that we would all do well not to learn
until we've paid off all our student loans and shacked up with some radio
mistress from South End. The trouble with listening to people is what you hear
and what the gentleman expect you to act on without quibbles of remorse. Let's
all go to the toilet to have ourselves a treat, the words written on the wall
are curved and friendly. My hands stopped being steady months ago but none of
the libido triplets have noticed. They have astro fever, the feel of the turf
beneath their naked knuckles and the twist of a bayonet round the area we
reserve for the little god.
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