October 15, 2009

Archive number FOUR

To mark the announcement of the air date of my much anticipated appearance on Primetime TV, here is the poem that I wrote the night before filming. The picture (for there is always a picture) is...golly I can't remember, but it's cool. Innit.



On some TV show.
The paper dances 
in the blaze, short man.

That switch blade
never happened.
In london, they bleed.

The dirt bird stifles
it’s nest by the train.
No more babies here.

There are no stalkers.
There is no murder.
Abortion repertoire.

The cattle cry, slow,
when the offal dies.
The moan. To assist.

Old ladies wait still
for the stock response.
We are animals.

Dusting creases dry,
quotidian key.
Filling all those mugs.

Fields of water, that skin.
The window sparks fire
in the reaper’s stare.

And we burn like ash.
And we rot like oil.
We were animals.

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