A Dream Within A Dream
The night engulfed us Into hallucination - an opium dream, It stuck like a splinter And like a sticking plaster held us Tight. An overdose of nothingness Ensued, silently, violently We fell in and out of each other. I knew she loved it, I watched her body Roll and squirm, as she lay helpless On the ceiling, and I surfaced In the reflection of an upturned bed. My nose bled! With pupils eclipsed I experienced aftermaths Of shady afternoons: A puff of hasheesh, A sip of local bhang, The secret depths of Benares’s passageways: Incense burning, Tealeaves turning, And lessons being unlearned; The memory of a dirge In the first heaven that showed itself.
I sunk a spirit: a tonic of sizzles On the rocks, then I sunk into her Fair and freckled skin. So subtle was her touch I remember nothing much, just- There was this icon Of an all knowing idol Sitting, legs crossed, on the mantle, With a look which settled my stomach But, at the same time, unnerved me, As if this Underworldly wretch Knew answers to questions yet asked. Within the hallways Whirled a waltz of moaning, Which meant more to me than knowing. Coming up was painful, My senses shocked but sober, My body numb, and in an hour I unbelieve it all… Still she dreamed, and I breathed in her breath- Such reality shows no truth, Her eyes spiraled before me- It bears no fruit, Teasingly they opened And in an instant she is gone, And she looked at me Lost to a fathomless despair, With pale blue icy fire, Which never can be truly shared. As if I were a stranger Or some fickle masquerader.
And The Rain To Be Raining Body battered, bruised and broken, Forever full, and always empty, With soaking plimsolls picking Puddles out along L'avenue des Gobleins - where all is ending, And all begins.
Lovelessly, I listen to a stranger's Earthful clatter, Such clotting feelsafes In sickly rhythms With rumours to push you soilwards, Enough to make your belly boil Up with bile At the tristfully vile Persistence of contempt, as pure As a mouthful of manure,
# This jangling cockney's twaddle Is just a bolshy, bawdy muddle; Somebody please give him a cuddle.
One cannot help but want to spew Out his supper!
Done To Death Down A Darkened Passage
Downing in a well of promises Un-kept, in murky mornings That last until the evening, Too afraid To awake Without her body burning next to mine.
Despairground
Apathy Prophecy
Disgusted by the English, by the sadness On the streets, by the wrecked moder nity Of this cr uel and unforgiving limbotheque, Today I just sit here, disgusting to the end, A sham is all I really can be When inside I’m so topsey-tur vey! Eventually this Distropolis Is going to fall down on top of all of us.
New York City Hotel Lobby
Cocaine Concierge Floating like disco-balls In Manhattan goldfish-bowls Delivering hate-mail And condoms, ice-cream And Victory Gin to red-faced-men (wishing now was then) With suicide-girls Cross-legged in furs On painted papier-mâché chairs # As the eyes of a stranger Reflect through a mirror Romance breathes in tragedy, Curtains billow o’er the matinée While the sweaty palms of the maitre’d Suggest surely he’s the man to meet; Now satisfied with ersatz sense He becomes his only audience # And out on the city streets! ...a tête-à-tête with the Plastic Princess Leaves every borrowed dream Fading in a haze of stream Rising with a conscience from the sewers # Elevator Music Is really written for mucky kissing;
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Artworks Page 1, Gustav Klimt, Dame mit Muff Page 2, Auguste Elysée Chabaud, Yvette ou la robe à carreaux Page 3, Léon Spilliaert, The Absinthe Drinker Page 4, Pablo Picasso, The Absinthe Drinker Page 5, Jean Beraud, The Drinkers Page 6, Augustus John, Rachel Back Cover, Jacques-Louis David, Death of Marat