Saturday Night

A Chicken flight

To the ceiling and back

Next week will be better

Next life will be eagle

Higher on crack.

Tom and Jerry

Grimacing Jerry
Had a beer belly
Since taciturn Tom
Left the slapstick home
And lost his way
Among
The alley cats who think
All day of ways
To win
The whole world back.

A Three Liner

This insanity shuts me up
And me makes me worth
The silence

Today:

Ran a miracle mile, a song of hope, extracted from the poverty of pop, I want to write my hand in to your glove, to fit and then unwrap, kicked in the gut, birthday party from tomorrow, without the sound I cannot unwind, yeah, one two three, this is not my tongue, this my forked tongue, true to love, so true lip bitten blue, one face to another , yo-yo, crashed in style, no no you cannot ask me to be special, or the other way around, electric, electric evening, sparks of boredom, short circuit to endless nights, sleep in the morning, now I must rest, reset and relax, fax resignations, meet with quizzical greetings during lunch, ask me how I m, I have learnt to smile, just like a photograph.

Tomorrow:

Aged fourteen, jerking off in pretty teacher panties, heard the warm hiss, snakes surprised morning university, I want to dream, into sneak peaks, seven thirty dates with censored Bollywood, Manisha Koirala a princess in need, be good, be good please, don’t disappoint a multitude of one, two or three, count like king with pocketful of sixpence, bite of the bit, that he or she won’t chew, lining up a shot in pleasant dark, elsie whimpers and dies, a pair of spikes, dirt cheap, on the sidelines for ever, then burst open for fifteen minutes, hello son can you speak in English? Nahi, the north now has conquered me, come tomorrow, come quickly.

Yesterday:

Cloud cover, every night we smash a mercedez benz, Joplin laughter in choppy waters, I m coming home baby, following a tune, no pied piper shit, rats scurry over my feet, with no respect for rabies, or plague, create a commandment, tattooed on the forehead, just above the cut on the eye lid, will let things slide off, will learn the secret of the electric eel. Will start a forest fire at the first opportunity, and then run, taking queue yesterday will turn into today, fritter away, fritter away, chirping peacocks, thank you for the world and everything. Morning prayer , our father the earliest riser in the prettiest heaven, have mercy.

What is the point? Cartographically or otherwise one answers in terms of direction, imagine the usual, crossroads, four way exits, or entry, whichever way one wants to see, usually away, farewell bash? Perhaps. Goldfish sewing forgetful flowers, not quite in full bloom, is interested in the texture of things, will move down south to become hollywood. That then is a point.

Fish and Bull stories are not always pleasant. Especially when they are precociously gifted. Especially when they can change into each other, where bulls have gills that breathe in the deep and fish has horns that tear apart clumps of hair. But then they switch. Again. Fish jumps back on dry land, no alcohol, arse frozen, museum of cold. Bull flies on an aeroplane, before cribbing around in city by the sea, fat men, hanging tongues, yoko ono shades, ah the electric embrace corrupted by local trains, unwelcome butt cracks of hosts on a two drag high. Fish in the meantime, lags behind late late nights,asks for forgiveness, from the larger gods of Switcheroo, so it can stop taking itself seriously, all the stink of the market,dead eyes bereft of pain, laughter sniggers, haltingly,prepares to move east for warmth. Bull is kind. Bull thinks about turning into twisted cat, white quilts, red in a colour blind world. Bull and fish pump blood to the heart. They are about to meet. Fish and bull decide to be nice to each other. Fish learns to cook and brings breakfast to the bed, buys bull and friends fancy hair gell, vibrating condoms. Happiness in a gas cylinder, grows, till medium gods of accident intervene, rips through the kitchen to leave scattered scales or flakes of horn, which one? i dont know which one blew up, the fish or the bull, for as one already knows they could change into each other..