Amy Waiting at the Station

Where the red bush reigns under elephant skies
And long legged rope handlers finish uneasily
We are stuck wings in blood stained skin
Pigs at the table of a fine fat feast

Empty I am of any declaration
Of any way to say I wish I love I need I have cramp
Wicked and showy, elevated to the realm of a king
Crack that whip and play with yourself gently

The quick weighted flash of a troll
Crawling across me like poison and glass
Thick reams of clotted sugar sink into the masses
Whilst Amy sits scribbling to the rhythm of her demon

Heavy is the shower inside my black colon
Heavy it sits and groans low to our local choir
Huxtable was beyond the frozen lake
With a fork and an axe and several shining eyes

A pillar and a golden liquid oozing down it’s side
Down and onto a carpeted floor a puddle forms
Remind me where we stood that day
When amy said she had nothing to do

Help is at hand in the form of a stitch
A corrugated playground melting in the sun
Stooped hair crawls across wet tarmac
Chosen from among millions we snap in the wind

Cheques written on gold-leaf
With young men and women chanting in the hall
Enter the bright finger of our great tree
His oar reaches out slowly and we rise

Mint and thyme ring in our ears
The donkey moans on a rust-ridden road
Heaven is a plaque declaring “he has been crack weigh”
Play those silly little games and whistle

Four months of green ink
Seven shades of grey
Eleven words
One broken mattress

Goodbye to the lackies and their oil
Their vile pallettes of plastic spray
In chimes of rapture a quick plug relates the air
Waiting at a station in the comfort of static

 

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