Sunday 25 March 2012

LIVING ROOM TABLE

some god’s simple silent
rage of syrup is sliding 
over 
shining and glowing 
wet glass bricks

they rattle

and down it falls like amber Rickenbach

j. cash flips
his middle finger 
at me from the photo on the magazine

slim and spaced and beautiful 
mechanical limbic paws
grasp glass gently 
they
are 
drinking 
for me/i am only watching the
stylised scatter of smokes 
and pills and pots and pens
in here
on the table
i'd hide under when i was 4
there’s dirt smeared on the military shaving mirror
and my middle finger/well practised
is
flying 
the Bird
at only me and everything
in flat reflection

a filthy rolled up 20
rimmed in white and red 
is rolling around
because the window is wide open
for
the company
of hovering minibeasts
and
a wind is
gliding
in

tomorrow
i will spend it

for sure




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