INSIDE JOE RIDGWELLS HEAD

is an undead London land 
of 
forever social clubs - tall white castles 
of 
hot old diamonds
cheap cold beer
free salty seafood 
where 
mirrorballs turn evil-eyes 
and 
hypnotic disco dots
on high artex ceilings 
and 
tall black windows 
and
dozens of black rollneck joes scitter on overdrive in there
saying
FUCK SHIT WHATEVER and I AINT GOT A PEN 
and
another dozen black rollneck joes 
recite sad poems in there 
of 
local hero boxers and dead corner boozers 
gone 
to 
eternal early doors and unknown graves 
on 
dark red stages of decks and wireless mics 
and
a simple table oasis in the eye of the storm 
holds fine artisan pages 
of 
joes hopes dreams memories 
scribbled and stabbed home and abroad 
in
motorised beer fuelled mashup 
and
dozens of black stocking dancers 
from old gone Hollywood - from Fante's dusty LA
throw elegant retro shapes 
with
impeccable held posture and cool knowing faces

like the hotel california - you can checkout anytime you like
but
you
can
never
leave

zorita burlesque dancer 1940’s from sloth unleashed