7 UNDERGOUND


1

Let me tell you
all my cybernetic gnostic life,
centuries, Kids, I'm telling you,
I've pandered to this stage
& art & conjured broken faces.
Moorgate, Old Street, Angel
Folks, I think it's round about time
you joined me
in the trilling of the damned.
I'm glad to be of help here
as you choose the righteous path
through old infernal nocturnes
& my Rolodex of venal souls.
Step up for one more
jaunt among mindless sods
under Mornington Cres.
O beautiful & scurrilous whores
of la la la perdition
you're stuck for choice,
homunculi from
Edgware, Burnt Oak, Colindale
just shed your chains & glimpse
my crooked frame above the naphtha.
Goddamn, goddamn,
just take my hand
& let me desecrate your hopes & dreams.
The city's plumage once discarded's
just an antiseptic wind
all tainted with that rinse
of fact, the denizens just guff & tarts
still pouncing on my lieder.
You know, I've rinsed my eyes
a thousand times on
showerheads, train stops,
the dusted trench & limbs
& all such rancorous congestion,
so take a swig of this
immaculate febrifuge
Pilgrim, the tracks have ended
& I'm sharing out oblivion,
a blessing to be sure.
So jump right in to mix and match
each penetrating shade,
a ticklish choice I know
amongst the tanning hides below,
we're all a touch
oblivious & shining for a lonely fuck.
I guess you'll come to see me
as your original
& peckish wretch,
so look me in the eye
for I'm not asking much just now -
a look-see and a promise
if you've got the gumption
to take me at my word
just step right up and kiss both cheeks -
X X, your respite's due,
your old mechanical
& rancid luck will find
a putrid husband in
the quelling quelling ash.


2

I have my cabinet stuffed
with hoary souls
I have my burning veldts
back here old son, just
pay the price and let me
ruin you for fun,
as if it matters.
It's just a little theatre as if,
to give this credence, let's say
the very flames of hell
are just a poet's feckless
piss away, so come and take a peek
Holborn, Goodge Street, Warren Street
the Euminedes are fluffers
in the spark-lit dank ephemera,
all bending to the task
as I take you through each blow
(though you don't know your arse
from your elbow).
Call me Horus or Old Perfidy hisself
for all it takes is piebald ears
a rupture of the veil, a hurdy-gurdy
& antic amp below the escalator
Highgate, Archway, Tufnell Park
the tinnitus of swanky crowds
& years of meagre living like a stain,
a bleb inside the temple & you're there
beside boiling entrances,
steel banisters & lemon tiles
& lime walls descending
ah yes below the far off slinky Thames,
that bloated water
dawdling in amber curls
like a thought in some ruminant
organ of desire. But here
below it's all a game of winds.
In case you fancy some of this
just take your time &
banish from your mind
all thoughts of marbled flanks
where you might dip your wick.
Just step into the carriage,
this gorgeous cicatrice of tunnels
all arteries & chthonic stink,
a journey of erasures & declensions.
Yes, all you can muster's no more than
a weary genuflection in my tepid piss.
I know that I'm an intemperate
& florid geezer goading
each by each in this forsaken
city of all chillblanes & distemper,
but take a swig of this & I'll
bless you with a thousand days
of indolence and care,
indeed, ta ta, just leave your soul
for rancid dust, adieu old chum,
a triste for rancid rancid rancid dust
Tooting Broadway, Tooting Bec
the tainted twig is bristling here,
my brightening and my Albion. 


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