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Anyway murder they say |
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Please murder |
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My face was watching braille dogs |
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Hammering out belonging to the sky |
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Their wings form shutters |
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From Alan's window |
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The incense drifts past the skins and shells |
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Ruby waves goodbye |
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And runs to the valleys |
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That are beautiful |
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And drenched with rain and colours |
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And green was that blood then |
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The sap of monsoons and butterflies |
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When I was small the red flowers opened |
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And I broke letters and dreamed |
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Or murder and nations and Crowley's jazz |
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4 or 5 decades later |
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I am some Egyptian face |
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Was I in Luxor carving my name? |
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Was I binding cats with kindness and saws? |
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The green glass stinks with ash |
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In the broken windows |
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Remembered bodies |
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Fill the streets with novels |
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And the brave boys pass by |
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In brave pontoons |
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And mark graves |
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With pebbles that sink and shriek jingles |
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What was the lie in your showboat? |
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Or your slowboat? Were the paperweights |
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Calling you to statis? Or murder? |
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Was your soul at KostKutters or Kwiksavers? |
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The cats lie under pink lights |
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And see themselves as ponies with fur |
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Whilst Judas arises 4 centuries too late |
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And says ecce homo an |
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I was not the creator at the dawn or evening |
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But the trains walk by to Toytown |
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And call for fares from the wooden front |
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You and I were walking the calypso |
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Howling for teatime |
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At teatime the conquistadors and matadors |
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Are salvators and astronauts |
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The sea was bloody red and coupled with fury |
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Anyway murder they say |
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Anyway murder |
