Welcome, Saturday dreams
25 March, 2008
In the broken-car, back-stabbing streets,
There is a skirt and a lifted, twisted mouth,
Suffering the blue-eyed, brain-dead glances
Of a nation’s indulgent outrage.
Can I catch your flittering, shuttering sky,
Your wandering, clinging fingernail?
I long to reach across the rain-stinking ravine
And touch the fountain of hair within.
But your leather-strapped nightmare
Is just pulling out of the diesel-fume station.
A rollercoaster jeans-boy hitching your mind.
Do you fancy a cup of tea?
Back in the safety of a papered, lip-cracked room,
Technicolor rides the cavalry out of the box.
Click-click change, click-click change.
Still the same old plastic box.
Drift towards the sickening blanket,
Pulling denim and sandals and assembly-line straps.
Capture the clean-skin curve that lies below.
There is a single line to trace and bend.
I didn’t want to pity you in your death-faced soul-game.
You never wanted anything I couldn’t see.
Push into the feather-pocket, dust-blown oblivion,
Let Mickey Mouse take you away.