window pained and steaming
as your insides gush
hot and cold.
You have a skin
covering your insides
with outsides
so you can cover this contraceptive membrane in scars.
You want to feel everything
your are hurt, everywhere
and you squirm
a million hands on you
and you love it.
Don’t you?
A shallow bottomed vessel
you are barely...
or not at all.
Your pain is
a transplanted heart failure
the world that ends each day
just a little.
House wine?
You are the house wine!
~ a righteous lefty
skimming pages for the right recipe
so you can set them on fire
trying to find
the prefect formula
Poor soul
you really do
want the cake
and eat it too
or to have it
not to eat it
as well
just so you can tell them...
Yes.
All about...
The hunger – oh how I hunger!
Or about how beautiful the cake is –it was so so... beautiful!
Or the anticipation -cake I yearn for you!
I want to eat it!
Oh, If only you could
or tell them about~
the last bad dining experience:
I was young and innocent
...and dining
or
whatever, because like cakes...
(meh)
you can keep your cake and I hope you two are good together.
'cause its a cake-walk for the rest
While you're off
lost
unfed
when you can’t see the forest
for the cake …trees
trees with leaves
like pages
for you to read into
between lines
trying to find
the real reason
while your stomach
stays empty.
You’re as fragile as the answers found in philosophy classes
or the bottom of wine glasses.
Why don’t you drink from a cask of arse
you farcical bastard!
The species endangered only by itself
Panda bear
picking extinction from the wine list
sitting at altitude where bamboo is the only thing that grows
and it’s about as nourishing as cardboard.
So you’re not going anywhere
when
if you could just keep your hands to yourself for five seconds
you could roll down hill
...and eat cake.
You’re a butterfly
caught in the chaos
of your won storms.
But for all that –
and perhaps more
you can paint with words
what no canvas can hold
and you alone
can photograph what a heart-in-motion looks like
and you alone
can see these majestic majestic ranges
in our mole hills.
You alone can conquer the whole world
cloud-watching.
So drink deeply from that split milk
twist your knickers into a fantastical tale
and terror and romance and more
no further afield than your kitchen draw.
Hollow yourself out
and take us all on this journey
hey
–we’ll even carry the baggage for you!
poor
poor
soul.
You... fucking... poet.
_____________________________________
Performed as a two-person piece ~ thought it would help take the edge off the attack on the audience. Once with Alex and then again with Libby Charlton.
-Peace
.
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