from NOSTALGIE
Loose meat
in my freak-show days
on the cusp of empire
soapy hands on twenty ideal sacs
weaseling for the sound committee
I'd come on all night as ribs
and chalk in the northern trips
marking time before each signal eked out
those bobbing turds and chiselled
juice from the tired escarpment
making every eye ache at the prefecture
all kettles and crumbs
lapping up capacity for ruinous days
there then / as if a fillet in
perpetual amber articulated solder wings
grunted for local cabbage
for improvised pork all pins and mustard
Iım staking teeth on it
here at broadcast depth
shaving off each dirty hole as I rinse
and rinse the steakhouse knives
old gasoline farts and echoes as I say
beyond the soiled retinal glare
my townıs ratings fused with lead
still pleasuring the wreck of mother
one can sit and burn intrusive meat
recording the one chair in a violet room
each long stew of tongues
toiling the pan of the blunt lounge
it is (as promised) all here for you now
wrapped in dog skins / wrapped in lungs
the contraband of little men
gasping in a bed
