Monday 4 June 2012

5P FOR DADDY COOL


    CHRIST!
i scream
like
ripped opened letters
or
some dead alley dog-

& TV
is just
a bar
in ruined Soho
on Saturday night
when they all
come up
from Essex
(like me but NOT like me)

i wobble talking fast/full of heavy mercury and truth
     round a square wood table
     leaning on a fruit machine
superior 
with IQ scorn/broadcasting apocalypse TV

screaming CHRIST! at whatever and anything - the cold black sky?

     leaving all my 5p's
     in Daddy Cools's
     cardboard
     den
     
     and pissing endless streams in car park nooks
     EXISTENTIAL
     and
     free



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