PIZZAFACE
The best you can hope for
Is to be a nobody; if line breaks mattered then
Everyone would use
Them
Pile up on top of dead poets
Empty metal muse
Too much pain in the land dipping frozen
Yogurt over barely moving fingers
Can we help?
Addicted to opiates and sympathy
A victim culture foisted on a wheel chair
Bound scudding over the white cliffs of Dover
What would you have us do? Mental gossamer weighted
Like small honey sacks; those funny bee stocking legs
Chubby with pollen
The garden rosary compost, mildew egg yolk spillage
Treats a golden glow. Now your sad you said.
Now I can’t reach out to anything
Turning inwards combusting
Popped emergency garden bubble
Long talk summer stockings
Taken over the sea
As you will see.
If you can hear it you must be deaf, swallows screaming come
On England maybe perhaps or whatever
My friend calls from a guesthouse called the
‘Astral Lodge’. That’s where you’ll find me when your down
Around about your lowest ebb; I’ll step in, I’m there, friendship ready
As things get better we’ll loosen the ties; see around bad memory you’ll soon forget. Get a haircut, shave and move on. The low ebb guy: ready, willing and able. For desperate friendship needs. Skulking in the deserted bush shelter of half-asleep nights. The one underneath the shopping precinct; with the air ashy with fumes noxious. Every move a stale mate. All that yoga gone to waste; broken in a minute. Running too fast to keep up, slipped on that old banana skin that was always there, waiting for us to come along, to intersect with its orbit.
Flying now airborne joy ride bone pleasing backwards snap. The clear-away to get to it, is mostly too much now. The complexities are manifold
Time lapse integer muffled rapid deterioration paranoid coupe home spun distance learning on-line patter.
