Part I: guns ‘n’ roses
They never paint portraits
of flowers, unless said flower
happened to be growing out of the barrel
of a gun perched in the hands of a child.
Still, the seven men who care
took a poll amongst the staircases
bookshelves of doll faces and myriad
foes collected among the dreary, rain
drenched down the windows and found
to no one’s surprise,
that there are in fact only three kinds
of lies – the ones you tell, the ones you
know and the ones you leave behind.
peter piper lost a pack of
pickled gherkins, pickled onions are too
sour in fact to stomach, poor old pete
I guess this means dinner’s off
What the hell, let’s all go
into space, just to see if the world
really is a sepia as all the poets
claim it to be.
oh, one last thing
Can you hear me Major Tom?
Your signals weak, there’s something wrong
Major Tom, what kind of name
is Major Tom anyway?
Part II: booze dreams and drag queens
heart on page
I’m a stone’s throw from a crow man,
hang the tin cans, one two three
haul them timbers boys I think this is gonna be
a big one.
I wonder if blood
comes out of paper?
Pump the veins, drain the brains
left, right, left, right
drunks down the centre
and me in the middle
with the out-of-work
unicorns and fat faeries.
What is your name?
one more drink and I won’t even remember that
down the hatch, around the corner
drown them timbers boys, here she comes
Did you read those letters?
tisket tasket, silk woven basket
did you ever find your heart
you fucking bastard?
Part III: vicarious victor (denouncement)
I’ve begun living vicariously through myself...
Maybe they’re right
I need to stop hiding and just
say it, y’know?
No roses, no guns, no hazy booze dreams,
no topsy turvy swirly wirly up the hill around the corner...
god, there I go again.
What am I trying to say?
Isn’t it obvious?
No, I guess not.
didn’t get it
I can see it in your eyes.
You think I’m mad, don’t you?
sitting here, writing to impress
faceless masquerades and
people with names like “#1 Synth”.
I mean, I’m sorry
but what kind of name is “#1 Synth”?
I’m rambling again, aren’t I?
see what happens when
I just write?
I think I should kick this back
back into gear.
I think, therefore I know
therefore I am, therefore hitherto
unto us, unto You, Lord of love and hope
hope to God, clutch those straws, hurry
you’re drowning in sins, oh, sins sins sings songs
and what are songs but lies?
and we all know, there are only three types of lies
so who are you?