The other feller's here now, the one who speaks without a voice:
The stone who never got touched by water.
Moving without motion and breathing without inhalation,
The old one with neither body nor soul,
But cold aeons and white-hot flash memory.
Just like that flash photography took your slum lolita snout
Deep in the gluebag, and baby baghead sniggers
At EAT MY WANK on the knee,
GET YOUR BACON HERE FOLKS on the arse,
FUCK OFF on the inner lip.
Now Crocky and Nogzy demons re-emerge and the Hand of Death
With an easy logic and a lazy eye floats over the North of England.
"It could be you!"
Trapped in 24/7 electric dreamland as poisons leech on a Hull-Zeebrugge ferry -
Wee Papa Girl Rappers Rule. Push It Real Good.
The endless years for this to make a kind of sense convulse and contract
And time becomes space, here in this terrible tunnel.
Such little monsters penetrate and invade all you'd thought you'd forgotten:
(i) The psilocybe crop of Shiny Brook
(ii) The TV aerials of suburbia with a Phil Redmond script
(iii) The geriatric back ward cases
(iv) Flowery dress by the river
(v) Tony and Mark's back braces
(vi) The Huntington's grimace as they grasp the cutlery
(vii) The dual diagnosis and fistful of pills
(...and the doors are where the windows should be! And the windows are where the doors should be!...)
This candle's getting snuffed
And the nameless one who speaks without words,
Who never had a soul or a body is here now.
Silence consumes like fire:
Find the last leaf and do a hotty with it.
(For Sakura H, Colette B and Nettle - 'floor eleven')
1-2-3 do the Oz Oz Alice blink. Many things may be deduced from the diagrams which, it is preferable, should be studied silently rather than divulged openly in words.
