Monday 12 December 2011

UNKILLED AND OUT

not killed yet! remaining Undiagnosed
and Out!
blondes hands paw men against Limehouse metal.
red tube carries unkilled me up Londons tongue.
Out, not killed!
brownskin thigh-boot girl laughs in traffic.

     I throw silver in one homeless tub/to thanks.
     old man in busted coat change seats on football train
          so old.
Out still unkilled!
Friday night toothless Hammer regular grasps a tin
defiant
alone.
     soon I will smile at American writers.

one thousand beautifuk faces.
a flying wedge on concrete ant-city channels.
     late summer in London.
Friday night Farringdon.
     scaffold children singing in littered road
          sell cakes in rhythm with the crowd.

8pm London I have not been killed!
I nearly puke outside the Tower . . .
     new writers laugh on publand skyline.
     red art walls.
tall dust curtains.
high old windows.
     new words chime bell-clear drink-fast.
     thousands of beatifuk faces Out unkilled!

shes not a hooker.
laughs.
reading from a plinth.
broken circle tattooed on American arm.
     I laugh too Out!
not killed!
smoking outside on brown butt kerbs with fast cars.
          beer glasses.
bent tights.
shining heels.

fearless boots read 21st century truthpods.
     no one has deaded unkilled me!
     I am Out! breathing the out air in
          holding a hot blondes eye.
     drinking £5.80 in 2 glasses with ice
              8teen times
          holding a hot blondes eye.

twenty three 21st century hearts clapping unkilled!
     twenty three beatifuks facing brave werd stage
     all have
hot red whirls.
think shut eyes
for the world camera.

new writer talks at me one thousand werds
          in one drinking minute.
fast raps comfortable white noise of exhausted booze
     unkilled and Out!
     American writer massive king of books.
     a fucking independent publisher.
     asks if I listen to the Dresden werd firestorm.
(a good-bad song is on I like)
          I never
had a conversation
with either of them.

insane low heights reached the red wood den.
     in my mind
I am on a plinth.
in my mind
with Hamsun and Hemmingway.
     scream mob BMW cut up black cab catching club fare.
     boots crunch glass smokers smashed.
     bags hold chained benches down.
     I am indigo on a plinth in my own mind
              unkilled! Out and indigo!
     unkilled under a talkers moon.
unkilled under a fuckers sky.
     drunkenly holding a hot blondes eye.


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