the Bournemouth streets are sealed with water while wafers float me further still away from land. the attention seekers belly flop from piers protruding like acidic giants battling base ants. who are they to decide what' tall and what's small? Who am I to leap from their shoulders onto their backs?
a crowd of crows are gathered around and begin cawing as one holds his crotch in a foamy suffering. it's a cock eat cock world, and the ice-cream cum tastes nice, but the worst of it really is, I crave that same sand fight, that same sticky seaside sensation. I crave it just as much as the war of terror, just as much as stuffing myself full of every flavour. who can see the errors when given so many black eyes for straying too far from the watery path?
walk as a rant from the mouths of something pretty hand in hand through the jetty, under the stairs leading down onto the beach and under the stairs leading up to heaven or down to hell – a personal entrance to leave at any time. I'm a high-grade actor with bad guts, who's sick of feeling sick who's sick of eating nothing but pussy.