The Idiots


spin the bottle
Is A Religion
the very heavens shine down upon us.
She was right when she said
lost their little boy.
who has such lovely eyes
their skulls and gas them.
Every day for fifty years.

something to do with the family.
wonderful things we’ve shared.
A tired group.
A bloody mess.
Gang bang.
Deep breaths.
Lots of flags
“Les Fleurs du Mal”, 1944.

I love you.
even if it’s provisional.
Your lies are pouring out
He likes them.
All this sentimental crap
I’ve heard 17 different versions.
of every hole in your body.
BYE, Sugar.

I’ve chosen the right words.
liberated and unprejudiced,
There is one little minus.
really, really awful for you.
Not so hard.
Look, you’re floating
I’m sorry I couldn’t come to

and out of the bloody lake.
That tiny bit of paper
Sulked sulking
When she slips off the hook
The black on the left.
tied me to a decent bed.
I know sod all about knots.
Round the damned palm


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s