My muse sits, her fat white spotted shiny-skinned calves stretched folded
Against the power of her squat in the light by the door.
She chooses to be fat. As she chooses to not wear bras and dog ear books and
As she does, often.
Pain is often brought, so much that like an unwanted baby striped, cottoned and warm
Piles of it are left around the floor of my mind, second hand clothes…
I right for the might is in flight by night of words that bite with tooth-marks of light so blood run like kite like glory volcano sight.
I left my write a while back coz pain like a sack was stuck to my back till calcium lack made my knee go slack and…
Wait. I no right.
Now, I right.
Right so the all of the call will be
answered by rise and fall of apples
and the dead who are fed the seeds in your bed and…
Was I left?
I left the parts that were bought
And then sought on red silk that caught
Whispers like flu by corners in a loo and televised voodoo
That left you with plenty to see and nothing to…
I left when I knew that my muse read the news only for the funnies
And sweated in pews n' climaxed with the bunnies
That rolled on Discovery and possibly the green by the sheen
Of the moon and the Thames with Beatles in May.
I left where the word-pictures took curtain calls and made trunk calls
Where men and women left doodles on the walls of latrines whose sorrows
Were mourning waterfalls of lipstick and wishlick and Russian blonde heeled sputniks
All who ran man can pan hooved, laughing
Into the wilderness and jazz of parting, dancing.
I left who declared who be losers and who were the spared
Who cored my mind’s cunt and told me they cared
Who woke without grace or the necessary pace to get
Past the tangled sax of dreaming on a TV talk-show set.
I left how I came- plenty noise and taking my name
Back to before we turned the same like custard and mustard
All yellow and spineless no caress for the cess of our minds made sure
Our baits left us and we lost our lure
I left why I left why I left why I left
Why I left, was coz to die was a lie for
Who went? like your mothers back your will bent.
I right to be left which is best for the zest of a lime cut fresh
That comes with a world free and hair-ee.
I right to be left that is political that like conical
Is a shape that is susceptible
To faith and fall and fear and the maul
Of not quite walking the straight yellow line.
Now I right?
What is left?
Space on the page of this flat white cage
To hold the purest part of my droppings of rage
What is left?