somewhere inside
it creeps as slow as nonchalance
as cold as beer in a never ending song.
somewhere beneath a bridge it shows
it\'s lime green leaves floating
like a prehistoric beast.
through the gears,
from somewhere sober to the anarchy
where the whisky spits it\'s flavour
two fingers long
deep inside my stomach
where the butterflies retreat.
wasted lives.
cold meat now shelters monarchs
from the crimson queen
as she lays her eggs
beneath the very hands
somewhere between.
one touch is all it takes.
I take a pinch of salt in my mushroom soup
as cold as christ in a chicken coup
breaking bread for the willows
as they sleep through all and sundry
on a Sunday morning walk.
and how great this sadness travels through
the avenues now dead.
am carved from wood
with hidden claws
four floors down and giving head
to the morning whore more muscular than me.
am more under grass than you.
there is no reserve.
sold to the highest bidder
as bold as brass
with an ass the size of Jupiter
and I, as cold as beer
in a never ending song,