a cold December
I'm sleepwalking, coma locution
clenched fist wrapped with the holy grail &
ensuing the blood of several a gentleman.
44. shots to the diaphragm
& you bleed out mulled wine
- I allow you to be free so I can conduct a mass in these streets.
carousing your intestines
- around and round we go
your sinew grinding opposite my molars
- they become last weeks nightmare.
it's the glitter quiver, the disco-ball in the background
providing the hapless filler to the ballet
of this city.
It's lavender perfume at nights peak, it's twist of fortune
august white.
this city is my conception.
it's in my blood and I'll entice it
love it,
make out with its very existence.
it's the reason I'm here tonight wearing batik
a tie, dense to my throat
stood here sporting mistletoe cufflinks with curly toed slippers & antlers
and a smile to mock-up soft furnishings
on wet pavements.
- I sit viewing Christmas eve
and it's on fire.
It's like I'm scaling the world
a balloon tugging my heartstring
- idle within the radius of your heart
every electrical pep shows a footprint
I hold close.
It's a point to prove
a transition that I father, your name under my breast for a logic greater than acclaim.
The earth constantly revolves, and so on some eve
we shall be close
expose your heart
and your mind
so I can unearth
you.
walking, talking, spitting, fucking
specimen of cowardice
might I be...
Standing tall on a snow angels bisected wings.
I'm chained to an anchor,
it's bolt, implanted through my Adams apple
scratching like spiders trailing on church windows passed midnight.
I walk underneath the bridge
hiding, from his light.
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