Saturday, 2 November 2013

Molly, an ode. James WF Roberts




Molly, an ode.
James WF Roberts


Touch of flesh, in the darkness,

shimmering, dazzling lights,
harkens me towards that siren of desire.

Revolver fully load,
up the black stairs we traverse...

To the playground of electric hippies,
psyche-trance punks.
Behind the bar; deviant princess,
whip cracking dominatrix’s,
acid tripping, zombie mutilated Nurses,


Alice is covered in blood,
savagely fucked by the
rabbit and the walrus...
I swallow it dry,
surrounded by tradies asking me if I have any ketamine,

coz I’m all in black, hidden in the walls.
And they think in clich├ęs.


One pill to make you taller, one to make you strong.
One more makes you the king.

One more heart bursts out running along the floor.


I am no longer dancing to the music,
all the world is dancing,
fucking and fighting to the beating of my heart.

Coke-fiend stripper devours my ear,
trading poems for pleasures, long thought dead.


My coat smells of woman,
of coconut oil and frustration,
my fedora's been places tonight no
Milliner could ever imagine.


7am Sunrise.
Hoarse throat, clanging trams,
me and my wingman, or was I his?


Almost cleaned up by
Middle aged men in lyrca,
burning off their
regular six days of indulgences.


Thundering train,
great steal beast, my clothes nauseated by stale perfume,
sweat, cigarettes--shit where did I put that new pack?


Memory of her upon my ear,
whispering un-natural desires,
fuelling the poet's fires...
spinning world, spinning world, spinning world, spinning world....

Whose number is this in my phone?

That strange heavenly
Chinese girl, blonde hair,
Messages read like discussing a bank loan...
interest rates, rate of exchange,
when is the best time to sell, or withdraw,
usually coz Cops have just walked in.


four stations from mine,
stumbling, gut is rumbling,
gotta make the carpark...
don't do it on the seats...
first thing in the morning...
human volcano across woodchip garden.


Dying for a cigarette.

Next train, strange feeling
in my mouth like I just ate a meal of aspirin.

Sun's too bright burning hole in my sunglasses.
Teeth marks on my earlobes,
scratches on my back. (c) 2013.


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