Greengo.

Green go the glasses o

Giving a vertiginous tint
To the girl on the metro

I can write your stolen image

Into my outpage
There’s a thief in my pen
A kidnapper
A bandit
Preying on a trainful
Of mystery, corruption and excess
Taking disdainful advantage of your crumpled deceit.
Having you for breakfast.
Distorting your abjection into more acceptable forms.
Like an advert,
on a staircase,
like a flame without the heat.

You become mine by the comma,

as I play out my disgust towards your dull attitude,
wishing to complete you into immortality
since the god of small offshore investments
couldn’t edify your eyes into wetness
and your nose into a more alluring posture
like a sausage in the oven
can cause a queue of slavering acolytes
to fall at its foot and adore its un-pricked skin,
therefore I must.do it
before you chew it

The titchy little chain which adorns her watch blinks like a reptile.

She watches too much television.

It’s a direct consequence of the fall.
That stuff is the worst of all the drugs –
bad for your eyes – bad for your arse –
and good for fuck all.

There’s a thief in my pen.

And a pure and fruitless sculpture too.