Nature's Mad Mannequins

Outdoor and indoor assistant required.

Kicking up an unholy stink from the guts of the world.

Rotting fruits embedded in a thick fur carpet at the bottom of the refrigerator, it smiles wide

An odour of malignant decay.

Shocking electric eel vision

Of a hut suspended as by fronds in

A dream or dance of death decay and depravity

Dressed up as delight

Now dance

We swing this way and that with a glance at the altimeter

And as you frost a glistening smile

I ran full pelt out the window

As you watch

Again, then I reappear later from the shadows

Now do you understand

Again, reiterate the statements that brought us here

The old dole office, a bus ride away would favour 

A few crumpled notes. Is it glamour you require? Like that of a gatehouse belonging to a long- sequestered drive way up to the main house obscured by trees.

Dust and gravel matrix the quadrant the stars the model railways

Over and above everything else

Bright wide expanse of sky 

What is this terrible shit, is it tragic. Is it a tragedy, we may never begin to know. 

Entering the village pub that night bodies roiled in a drunken stupor, the type that inspires great wisdom then after great head pain. Tweed and guns, tweed and guns so much tweed and so many guns. We discussed the local murders among other things. You said I had gained weight, I said, “You are a terrible mad drunkard.”

Think on.