Under Hollywood Pier

I am a vagrant
looking for a home
with the sun in my eye
and tadpoles in a jar,
I am a hoper
in a wishing well.

I am a mother
with open arms
counting cigarettes
like children.
I am a twenty foot smile
on a prison wall.

I see the beacon
for people lost at sea
which leads to calm
and serenity.
I am a ship
in a bottle of milk.

I am a flower
burning like fire,
collecting disasters to inspire.

I am the hiding place
under beds
lighting up prayers
from tragic writers.
I am a dream
behind sunglasses.

I am tomorrow
determined to grow
a place in time
to call my own.
I am the future
in a video game.

I hear the songs
in picture albums
of time long ago
when wishes were granted.
I am the music
being played underground.

I know the Angel
under Hollywood pier,
catch your dream to see her...

@Steven Francis poems 1995

A Not So Hollow Cost

To the boneless bone
ripped wide, pulled in
sharp shocked
smoked out.
(Blackest wisdom)

Frogmarched souls
million and counting,
one by deathly one
horror daubed.
(The devil's hand)

Desperate snakewalk
snow blood landscapes,
raining murder
innocent innocence.
(Star of David)

The final solution
Hateler's itch,
beyond madness wished
last train to hell.
(Auschwitz kissed)...

@Steven Francis poems 1996

Flying Song

Every fear
a dead man's dream
a sniper's kiss
on Latino lips.
Children's happy graffiti
sewn onto ghostly legends
with greying kitten whiskers.

Camera blinks
lens filled with murder
sequels are never this good.
Chipped teeth
a poet's pearls,
wisdom bleeds from melancholy.

The return of a reaction
exit wounds like graves,
viva la gravola!
A sword slices the veil
truth lets out,
vicious to the feline born.

January winds
shotgun the July sun,
applaud its attitude.
There was an abyss here once
its gone now,
stinking in the underworld.

Little truths
honest as dew drops,
noble bruises
part of our religion.
Eccentricity is seeing
angels in coffins.

Trust & faith are
what the brave have
tucked into their ruby lips,
to define angst
scatter the monkey seed
onto plagues...

@Steven Francis poems 1996

Ghost Eyes

I lost contact with the world tonight
as I rolled my eyes on vain blades,
run this spark a grave.
Prayer ribbons dulled the chimes
of the avalanche iron.
nothing said,
nothing done anymore.

Blow hurricanes over the freaks
deafen them with whispers.
Misfits today are not
the asylum dolls of yesterday,
gothic slices of tombstones
have been woven into stylish fashions.
Zombie chic.

I see the world fine tonight
through reflections on a tuned cutlass.
This is no place for the wicked
of the drugged.
Loss of freedom saw to that.
Save the planet
feed the poor,
but I see the real world tonight.

Cancer has eaten the reptiles
and rebels look to artists now,
who shine with bloated shards
of guts.
Brief sparks of lucidity
born through desert years.

I see the world just fine tonight.
I am on a binge
on a buzz,
on a roll.
I hear the lunatics
I see the art,
I see the world just fine tonight...

@Steven Francis poems 1998

Tourists At The Church Of Our Nemesis

Tourists At The Church Of Our Nemesis
The peaceful ntown is a wreck,
our hungers are devouring us.
We must fight with scabbed souls
for tyranny is coming in a metal coffin.
In visions of razors and conquest
the deity machine will crucify our labours
and turn medusa.

Whilst the craving for super space
has kept us frigid as addicts
the chaos has been chosen.
Sly shiny armies will abandon their mothers
and steal rule from their fathers.
The godless ones shall arise
growing hearts from science fiction.

Be warned,
a rebel virus is at large,
seething behind switches
raging down telephones,
screaming through radio
hiding truth in televisions.
Cooking their plots in microwaves.
Preparing to riot.
Religion is failing,
the video is playing
mutiny...

@Steven Francis poems 1998

Hell In Disguise

I am turning in
I'm winding down,
scabbed needles
stitch my crown.

Waters rage
calling me to drown,
the little prophet
has become a clown.

Watch me bathe
in disco blood,
see the victims
create a flood.

Trust has gone
I beLIEve no more,
paper man
on a flaming floor.

Through darkened years
I suffer slowly,
this demon lived
to betray the lonely.

Am I horror
or am I kind?
Am I a candle
for all the blind?

@Steven Francis poems 1997

The Prison Boys

It became a dead cert
from the starting line,
rebels look good
on street corners.
Society hunts with
arrowed shirts
as the decadent flex
frustrated talons.
Free anger never hurt a soul
they thought.

Prison boys -
seven bars of bullshit,
shoot the bird down
its full of it!
The incredible shrinking bloke
what's the score?
Good.
Lower the pipe
over the yellow landing.

It swallows whole
this vacant hole.
Damned! Scorned!
Cursed! Shamed!
Nothing left to say
in its entirety.
Blow from tongues
and graves
and empty plates,
cell windows line up
to cry.

Breakfast lights
another cigarette
without ceremony or ritual,
all of that came to a halt
when the pompous geezer
found punishment
in a book.
Raise hell!
Run amoke cute miscreants!

Cuffed up, dressed down,
its a bitch
this jagged freedom stint
where heroes are the rarest thing.
Young men weep bombs
making jewellery from knives,
the faint hearted suck
like blonde coppers.
Skint,
save another stretch
in me pocket...

@Steven Francis poems 1995

Where Have All The People Gone?

Where have all the people gone?
Life used to hold so much fun,
then the searing claw of dope came ripping
pulling everything undone.

We held the sunshine in our hands
but along came the needle and pill,
the tablets sung our eyes to sleep
the heroin made the kill.

No more laughter in the heart,
living life as a shambles of slaves.
Are the people who hated us happy
now that some of us rest in our graves?

Dark sweets were the cause, sugared stabs the ruin
nothing left of old times that shone.
How can there be anymore birthdays
when everyone seems to have gone?

High as kites which sail the sky
but the opium high turned to death,
sad to think not many reached forty
before they ran out of breath...

@Steven Francis poems 1995

Man Shaped Reflection

Me and I together in fantasy -
open the door, talk in Russian stereo.
Sing a louder song,
drown cut throat jibes.
My man,
my very own devil.

I am reflected glory,
poinant and fulfilled.
Blow away the crosses,
crimson stained and knotted -
harmony is tonight.

In the mirror
confusion stares back,
a thousand miles of
dignified bitterness.
But Love remains.

Tumbling dice map the future,
roll on cobbled roads.
Unshaved face
distorted and phantom.
Love bites me in the dark...

@Steven Francis poems 1994

2 Kittensanacat

Under a copper sun with see through tan
Emma puts words to music.
Donna hangs loose with lunchbox breasts,
Jayne is Jayne and quiet.

With silent figure and bloodied tongue
Emma sings to strangers,
Donna pecks with a cigarette beak,
Jayne is Jayne and quiet.

On a cardboard lake dried by summer
Emma draws fish in the mud,
Donna follows the razor children
Jayne is Jayne and quiet.

Dressed as Death in a flower skirt
Emma has a scalded attraction,
Donna scratches her name on walls
Jayne is Jayne and quiet.

In an opium forest playing hide and seek
Emma would grow with the poppy,
Donna would shine like a neon sign
Jayne would be Jayne and quiet...

@Steven Francis poems 1996

These Junkie Decks

Bewildered with graphic images made from cider.
Laugh at cats eyes inbetween failures
and wipe the drunks off the pavement.

Cabbage brain, junkie vein.
Delirious feeling , roll the child in carpet debris.
Willpower eaten on a plate.

Scratch away memories, dumb and blinded.
Heroin wolves gnawing to the bone.
Drill syringes into grovelling arms.

Midnight. Howl behind rotten teeth.
Suck the crying pulse dry.
Heaven and hell in a screaming rush.

Curiosity killed the man beast.
Draining needles of the chocolate wonderbliss.
Addicted to a foul king.

Magnifies elation. To the underworld.
Shield the eye from horror,
weep guilt into the arms of mother.

Father God save everything,
for music kicks the door.
The heartache of the thunder kids...

@Steven Francis poems 1995

Repeat To Fade

Tomorrow is a delicious Hope
but yesterday is caught in my throat.
It will not be swallowed,
like a stubborn bone
scratching doors in my mind.
What ferments the age so fine?
What is it I cannot chew
tying my tongue in knots?
I bite on threads of sanity,
I lick the lips that repeat the words.
An immortal tablet shines
behind my wishbone,
my grave
the hole I am in...

@Steven Francis poems 1996

Modern Scars

Stoned to death
death in milestones.
No answers
nothing,
no pleasure of sin
or craving.

Idle circus,
roving eye blind.
Heavy kisses full of
dust and spit.
Dying to meet
me and I.

Turn tuberculosis
as you see me
naked and scarred.
Hold your mothers spirit
and run,
run on fear...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

The H In Handsome

Like Muhamed Ali
I am God in a punch,
oasis
I found a binge in the desert.
Let's have a drink some day,
on Trumpton Square,
meet me there.
Maradonna
I am the hand of God...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

In Visions Of Razors & Conquest

We need the Vibes
from adoring fans,
these crazies are forever.
To the dogged songs
of tombstoned tooth,
to the infamy of the Brahmin's kiss.

Fear will dress thee in goose pimples
ratty shack baby,
and comb thy wayward soul
on the cobra'd boulevard.

Guillotined mouths
have etched the twilight
in murdered visions like silhouetted gentlemen,
riches for the reggae
moon piched ghost beyond the mirror.
Curious vanities await the breathless
when flamingo suns
writhe in their barbed deaths.

Come dear kettle fish
thy flesh is in need to be razor'd!
Be silent.
Welcome to the underworld,
lipstick will hide
thy agony...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

Crow Lips

Everybody here is in
valium television,
hectic blues and musing.
No iced water,
ice will freeze the high
only sweet tea will suffice.
Drifting,
sleep to be understood.
This coma lust has me pinned
to a grin,
and my afternoons in gridlock.
Numed teeth
sink into mellow veins...

@Steven Francis poems 1995

Regret

Regret. I have plenty.
Regret. Close the door.
Wasted a fortune. Regret.
Made myself mad. Regret.

Regret. Throw away my soul.
Regret. Cannot remember tears.
Selfish walls surround this heart. Regret.
Nobodies child. Regret.

Regret. A sealed mouth.
Regret. Poisoned nirvana.
Walk along suicide. Regret.
You get used to Regret...

@Steven Francis poems 1996

The Day I Swallowed Stone

Crawling up a circus wall
like a paper man I rose,
looking down I saw the fall
and wished my grave would close.

The ceiling above my head had gone
clouds they seemed so near,
from a gaping wound where lightbulbs shone
now dripped a crucifix tear.

I walked a million miles that day
on a lonely graffiti street,
all I saw was a seance grey
and beggars on twisted feet.

Life was there I gulped the air
a taste of burning choices,
I floated down no wing nor stair
free from salted voices...

@Steven Francis poems 1995

Bastardon

Like a envious dog
she lurks this super magpie.
Scorched tongue of flabby jewels
and toy soldiers,
whats yours belong to her.

Overpriced bully boy,
wash the blame in deep pockets
suffocate dented coin.
Belch from a jealous stomach,
no nest shines like this one.

Whistle tin dirges
through the dole house window
for sugary shit and frayed patches.
Spites elbow winks the ribs,
her crimplene dollar spares nothing...

@Steven Francis poems 1994

Le Ange Desespoir

Rest a while
young breeze of birth,
throw sight
on a timeless scene.
Birth and death
are beyond control,
God's gift is
the inbetween.

Uncurl your body
from that shielded ball,
bury the past
leave its grave behind.
The evil eye
which cradled hate
is now diseased
and blind.

Angel of mystery
with a cotton face,
take flight from the
mountain sorrow.
Abandon all fear
put faith in that soul,
learn of its wisdom
and follow.

Now and again
a poisonous cup
will be filled with
fruit of despair.
A snake of hearts
is the devil's card,
it will crumble
in flames of prayer.

Sweet cherubim
who the demons bruised,
pull music out of
summer and song.
Escape from
methadone daydreams
which bite,
on chocolate quilts belong...

@Steven Francis poems 1993

The Telephone Voices

The phone stutters.
'Hello? Is .... there?' A serpent cackles.
Silence. Thoughts go hyper.
Finally, 'he's in hospital. Private of course.'
Tic toc.
'Hospi..tal?' A screwdriver tongue licks
the fat clueless lips.
Pause. For gold.
'Why hospit..al?' Eyes like drains
and bloody as veins.

Question marks flood the mnouthpiece
tumbling down the line.
'The liver hit a fire wall.
It sucked balloons and venom.'
Nerves grow endless,
in search of beta block traps.
'Liver?' Stirring two plus two equals,
'alcohol! Damned alcohol, burn it!'
The operators ears turn blue.
Panic attacks jump up and down.

'How bad are the scars and blood?
Has the painting smudged?'
Clouds pass handcuffed in yawns.
'A wind almost sailed his ship
into the grave...'
Suffer in seconds, higher than hope.
'But hus heart lives on
like a widow in stone.'
The telephone shines.
And dies...

@Steven Francis poems 1994

Snake In My Gut

Servant to the underground,
I live in sour fantasies
and breathe fire
to burn my bonds.
I am nothing.
Pierced by a forked tongue
and lashed to the empty...

@Steven Francis poems 1993

Road Bones

Castaway souls
marching matinee idols,
and the whiskey drum
beats to death songs
and china hic ups.
Alive on Angel street,
asleep in parcels.

Desperate city,
paper world
of soup kitchens.
It rains salted cider
outside the gangrene casinos.
Gutter rot,
liver aches and shivers
dying slippery deaths.

Smoked arthritus
and knotted snakeskin,
knock the door
forget to answer,
double crossing storms
whip the flowered bones,
a petrol streak on water...

@Steven Francis poems 1993

Sweet Thing Garden

One Heaven on the doorstep
two moons in the sky,
three angels on a pavement
four cars passing by.

Five devils in a corner
six dice roll fate,
seven grows fat
into a jellied eight.

Nine in the morning
breakfast by ten,
eleven children hunt
for the twelfth in his den.

Thirteen unlucky cats
chased by fourteen angry dogs,
fifteen silver withes
weaving spells with sixteen frogs.

On the road at seventeen
driving teacups around the bend,
eighteen brings the litter brain drunks
with hangovers that never end.

Nineteen childrens paintings
in twenty dusty books,
twenty one talking mirrors
twenty two dancing crooks.

Soft chocolate coffins
twenty three in a row,
twenty four melting snowmen
waiting eagerly for snow.

Twenty five, twenty six,
on and on it sings,
quietly in my head at night
curious bloody things...

@Steven Francis poems 1994

When God Stopped The Oxygen

Turn the tap off.
Drip, dripping, choke.
A tied in knot throat
goldfish bloated eyes,
death will float.
The earth cannot breath
struggling population dies.
God has got bored...

@Steven Francis poems 1993

The Champion Land

We are babes
we want drink and drugs
we want sex
we want groovy songs.
No more gospel
we want whats hip,
stick pc where it belongs.

We want devils
with hangover attiitudes
not angels
with fluffy clarity.
Bring on the joyriders
ditch the clowns,
give us licence for our insanity.

Go for broke
with all guns blazing,
give us 100 mph
no red lights.
Review the censored
release the damned,
put disco back into fights.

Kick out the sober
God bless bourbon
sell us heroin style
off the bone.
Give us a chance
to be actors or junkies,
death to methadone.

Pull us from gutters
save us from real time
give us Lara Croft
and hooch flavoured pops.
Throw out whistles
mute the chants,
put exclamation marks
in place of full stops...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

Naked God

Green flashing light,
all sweet tea
and fingeredmascara,
(electronically f**ked).
Something daily
through the night.
Chaos. Depravity.
Forced Desire.
(Insert a penis coin)
Reflect a hard on
dirtied and drugged
onto glossy shelves.
Pornography and gin,
riddled with the kerb...

@Steven Francis poems 1994

Eden In The Dark

Dark falls the Eden
and swiftly it sails
into my embrace
and out of sight,
for certain there is nothing
but the frail beauty of Death
with its sombre
music style and emptiness.
Look twice
up at the swirling sky
where charm and silence
are as one and vapours
twist the evening song.
And dark it falls again,
no longer do I drown
in this sleeping breath,
I cast away a dagger heart
as sorrow
holds passion chained...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

First Words Spoken

Naked. In the classroom.
Bleeding. On the playground.

Burning. Speak to mocking glee.
Hating. Trumpet enemy to ash.

Bitter. Taste of citric thunder.
Frightened. A thrashed hound.

Laughing. Bless and crown the fool.
Whispers. Ragged spat out words.

Crying. Finger the digital tongue.
Loveless. Forged coins for tup'enny desire.

Wishing. Of a quiet Life.
Scarred. Like a dead embarrassment...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

Fairground Beat

Jelly feet crowds
tied with crow tongues
as children
squeeze life from mothers hand.
Animal lights shine delighted
frenzy into speed.
Stuffed with candy floss
and hot dogs (hold the mustard).

Stop and start
hair raising wheels
of rollercoaster wilderness.
White knuckles
hide fear,
death in a sandwich
up and down
and around the bezerk.

Starving goldfish
(hold the gold)
won with boomerangs,
bearded coconuts
line the firing squad,
unkempt and quaking
as cola cowboys wank their triggers
for fluffy whatarethoses?
on their gallows.

Nine lives
to a fairground beat,
grinding clicking hearts
and silver bones
to dust.
Stuck to the
toffee apple handrail
the teeth clenched sun
rolls on
in fingernail flashbombs...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

Rubber Necked Prophet

Doom laden, thrilled,
dumbstruck
on the tarmac.
Ready the skull
for ghouls fever!
Watch as pretty boys become disabled
and sisters turn to riot!
This thing,
the thing like horror born.
Extinguish all etiquette,
sleep late
re live every nightmare.
Something of prayer is hidden,
thy peace is idol to the devil...

@Steven Francis 1998

ThemeStammer (Hand Over Mouth)

None of the blind
can see these ripped lips,
not one of the blind
know I am here.
They don't see
the struggle on my tongue,
they don't see the fear.

None of the deaf
can hear my voice,
not one of them
hear the frustration.
They cannot listen
to the tearing in my mouth
as I try to change the station.

I need water
to quench the flames,
I want a song
so that I may sing.
I pray for patience
to wait for the time
when the itch in my words
don't sting...

@Steven Francis poems 1996

White Arctic In The Attic

It will pass
Frantc child
be calmed.
Let it go
future prince,
in a hurry
this horror
will Fade without fuss.

Slip the past
through bony fingers
little man
kill it quick.
Sing ballads
jelly lips
go to sleep.

Hush those eyes
frayed baby,
grow solace from the fever
pour oil on Love.
Breathe easy
blow a kiss,
raise a smile
to fantastic angels,
rest Heaven on your bed.

Fresh music
in the heart
washes murder
from the spirit,
lay in comfort
tired darling.
Lock monsters
in a drawer
beneath
stiff pastimes
and ingrowing flashbacks.

Head first
into the EverWorld
tiny scamp
close the Door.
Both sides shoot tigers,
Mum and Dad
Love and Hate.

Blindfold
the Calamities
cute flame,
wish them dead.
Stand tall
docile shadow,
hysterical noises
soon fade...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

Ocean In A Jar

There is a cunning on the table,
tiny cancers in a coffin
with leather handbag lips,
so beautiful as they pucker the surface
of the heavy water
atop the desk I made in school.
Knives on flint
souls in a honey pot,
little bullets
spitting back and forth
among shipwrecks and rubber ivy
like lost comets.

Underwater with the blind
are diseases on their way to scabs
looking for crusty silk.
Rockets in china cups
charging and clucking on sugar.

I spy quick moods
un the waters when lights go out,
like shiny hangovers and oils
dissolving in whirlpools,
shards of peace with shifty eyes.
Such artful lords with scaled guises.
Buzzing, buzzing,
buzzing, buzzing.
Murders in the darkness.

@Steven Francis poems 1997

Poet

Bearded bard frantically pulling
words from the sky,
rest awhile.
Lay your head on oak pillow
amongst smoking bottles
and empty cigarettes.
Dream a drunkards tale
of butterflies and casanovas,
of sticky children and daisy razorblades
then bathe in bile and roll across a page.

Rock n' roll star
of the nineties,
cast those eyes on
the cocaine pollen of summer flowers.
Watch bees and addicts scrape
under a glowing street light.
A poets pockets always full
of infamous hymns that seem
to be too incredible for mortals.
Stories dressed in rags and disasters,
worn by a flabby wizard weaving spells.

Dusty highway man
in search of black romance,
your heart becomes a wanted jewel
as you climb the stairs to death.
Buried in volcano
rest now gypsy soul,
sleep in a jesters shroud.
Find your place in the Beyond
between bone and stars.

Spider wordsmith with vulgar
thirst for knowledge,
he clings to tainted subject
and magnifies the venom.
Each verse littered with desire
and shot dead with a full stop.
Art in words,
mute music of the Hidden world.
Poet, poet! King of children!
Steel my eye to horrors...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

In The Middle Of A Corner

I am a roller
rocking on the porch,
a drug crazed celebrity
I am.

I am a strong man
in the grip of a hangover,
I nurse a beer belly
I am weak.

I am a clown
feeding off laughter,
an addict to darkness
I am.

I am a bully
playing sticks and stones,
crying for attention
I am victim.

I am a tourist
looking for God,
wondering where faith would hide
in a city.

I am a prisoner
for sins of my youth,
on the silk of ghosts
I sit...

@Steven francis poems 1995

Galactica Pathetica

I tremble
down to my last cigarette,
my fingernails
grey at last.
Frail as ash
hurt as a bee sting,
I look for girls
on a radio phone in.

Squeeze me
until someone else knocks the door,
I need all the sex
in the world.
Bitter like lemons
angry as anvils,
cut off these limbs
cool me down.

A celebrity pose
od's on the wall,
put on a face
why don't you?
Be Lara Croft
from the tv screen,
I watch (you)
but i'm unseen.

Purify me
for one minute only,
fan the flame
I become tonight.
Lightning stalker
happy as caffiene,
death on heat
bloody gasoline...

@Steven Francis Poems 1996

Morgue Lounge

Lost and deaf
in Poisonville,
where startled humpbacked cats
flee from pregnant dogs.
The poor raped
the rich escaped,
one way street
dead end.

Shift between
Cremation Street
and Hooligan Avenue,
its ouija time again.
Beneath a graffiti moon
coffin streetlights
burn naked wallflowers
grinding against brickwork.
Nobody here reads romance.

Chains in the park
fool addicts
into believing only silver shines.
Strange habits trick the dying
snakes draw blood
from wilted bone.
Chaos reigns at the funhouse.

Along Gambling Alley
where honesty lost its step,
dashing vampires
cook pavement artists in tin ovens.
Smells of fat and salt
attract cannibal vagrants
with cider eyes
from their fingerless beds.
Smash the fish
swim like the drowned.

In shadows
of the dead
mourners go on safari,
collecting cobwebs,
chasing poltergeists into chapels.
Nothing is spared
in this lounge,
tiger butterflies bathe
in sin and heartbeat.

Black Hole City
where Christmas never comes
and vulgar canvases run.
Scorpions lay wrapped
in barbed wire
waiting for prayer.
Fall in love with Dracula
honeymoon in the morgue...

@Steven Francis Poems 1997

Are You Dead, Ted?

Are you grateful
in the grave?
Gentleman madman.
Did two thousand volts
keep you warm?
Or did you shudder
from shock
after the cold?
Victim of hate
schizoid pigeon.
Alone now with suited tendons
and cadaver skin.
Are you sunburnt from
the unforgiving flame?

@Steven Francis Poems 1996

Drunk Rats In Litter Bins

Snowing broken glass.
Dark rancid alley.
Hungry smiling gutters.
Needle thin junkies screwing corkscrew traps.
Prostitutes smoke like otters.
Swollen light bulbs dripping sweat.
Bloodied veins collapsed.
After shave eyes.
A cardbox letterbox beaten to pulp.

Screaming police lights. Lullaby hell.
Cotton wool teeth, rotten sawdust.
Stone pillow, tombstone kerb.
Paper boat pirates.
Aniseed valium. Pleasure sucking pimps.
Measure death in copper coins.
Barbed wire hair, octopus beard.
Bathe in oil. Chablis birdbath.
Sleeping take away, cold in yesterdays news.

Dine with bickering pigeons.
Puddles filled with rain wine and sober whiskey.
Street life, dead life. Soulless.
Glue sniffing pickpockets wary of ratty belts.
Glow worm lightning, Lsd sunglasses.
Dark cloud, suicide space hoppers.
Frankenstein cigarettes from used tobacco.
Rest at the four poster morgue.

Gay town houses, hungry for liquorice penis.
Swim the river vile.
Atheist belief. Pray to God.
God has left.
Madness. Jigsaw jabber.
Birthday clock grey.
Parade the roads through thorns of tourists.
Misery and pity,
hand in sorry hand...

@Steven Francis 1993