my impotent friend
where now you hide the good luck of a charm?
all stars now bolts that walk the floors of tin.
it is yesterday tomorrow
all grapes are neatly peeled but glowing still.
in a cupboard with old photgraphs
of hollow ears. open mouths.
a face with a thousand land mines on it\'s chin.
it is Sunday. it is war!
raw eggs alone with their bayonettes
marching to-and-fro on a protein pill.
today.
today of this and that
like a wise old owl with nappy rash
walking to the grave
with his stilton cheese
and a lovebite on his neck.
head south as told.
it is said that\'s where the friendly blood shall meet
to die on stage with forgotten lines
while a princess shoots her arrows through a heart.
a beating heart in a flame-grilled silhouette.
it is Sunday. it is raw!
am as cold as death-watch beetle
talking to your grave
with my stilton cheese
and your lovebite on my neck.