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