The thrill of old rope in a
borrowed room / some

god-forsaken creature pinned to the head-
board wearing nothing

but its heart on its sleeve / obscene is what it’s called
in broad daylight

but at 4 a.m. it’s the only show worth staying ALIVE for / Friday
night’s genital supper

is yesterday’s news come Sunday lunch & we all get hurt in the age of the inter
net / HA / how

else do you reckon we kill the bloody time /// life / in the end / isn’t the stuff of afternoon
flicks on channel

5 / all cancer wards stalkers & Bacharach soundtracks / it’s the banal panic of the fleshpit /
the slow hormonal

free-fall into the arms of a second-rate scrote / then the floodlights pinging at
the worst possible

moment / so let’s ignore the fact I’m out in last year’s rags / let’s
ignore your end-

of-the-line eau de Cologne & that thing hanging from
the ceiling chewing

its tail / let’s pretend it’s us / the dawn
chorus / this frayed

length of rope