red is screwed into balls
on
frozen waves of tissue blue drapes
where kidney shaped silver boats
ding
like
bells
special steel opens a body
like
meat
but breathing and beating
behind the wheeled folding wall
staff are a clot of blue concern
ready
waiting
masked
and
watching the dirt of saviours wrench our bones apart
the air is thick with silence and noise
BUT
an electric ditty with a mechanised beat
like from a video game on a CRT TV
like a dream . . .
runs on
endless
and
ignored
its WHEN THE SAINTS COME MARCHING IN
and
my pendulum steps falter
its like a dark skit/a black sketch
with
no
punchline in sight
No comments:
Post a Comment