Tuesday, 12 May 2015

I Slag! by Gerry Potter

Bitten 'n' brittle-boned, barbed
and crumbling into shit stained finger-nails
of the worlds dirty mused.
Look at him smile at the strobe.
Look at her lost in drink.
"Don't trust the truckers,
they're driving all night and into all kinds."
"Its under her bra,
in her knickers."
Stories of all that ever was,
true
and invisible in his underpants.
Sauna songs a dirge,
hobble-old 'n' apologetic.
Could crap better melodies,
whistle better lives.
A chapel of rest where the dead towel-walk,
desperate for a wank.
Desperate for the hug offa someone good looking.
Validation from something with a more promising towel.
Might do anal.
Might kiss.
She's a seamless gold-digger,
struck coal.
He reached for stars,
got scorched by a 'plane.
No-one notices the desperation of slobber-chops,
honky-tonk hallows of halitosis, fags and beer.
There's no future in these hot hotels,
nothing on the TV.
If your lucky, might get a late drink,
another line.
Here the blessed get taxi fare.
All this is clever,
you've pulled the wool.
Star-trails your signature.
Chips taste of grease salt vinegar,
wisdom n' semen.
Chips dropped Runes, casting insertions.
There are nights you don't have enough holes.
All this is all you know.
Know you don't remember.
"I Slag!" You declare to The Senate.
While winters wet wind,
wipes a smile on your face.
The ring of your favourite song
they never played,
puts a spring in your step.

No comments:

Post a comment