Thursday, 3 February 2011

Fallen

Especially for Tom Dare...a two-part poem for literature's most interesting character, Satan. Including the word 'schlong' - just for Tom.

Fallen
Please allow me to introduce myself...

1.
Cat strangler, Host stealer,
deflowerer of simple country girls.

Imagine instead:
a Mustang cruising the city
on a hot summer’s night
a bottle of Jack in my hand
crystal meth scorched head
sugar skulls, Hades rings, on my arms gleaming.
Havana hanging from my lips.
Scouting for the sweetest piece of ass.
The hungriest mouth.
Imagine that.

I’ll be your Simon Cowell, your
Charlie M, your Allen Klein. I can put the
Sven in Svengali. I’ll deliver the Hello shoot,
be the genius behind your most twisted songs:
I don’t do kum bye yahs.

Get your shrivelled schlong
down to the crossroads
I’ll teach you a song.
Your fingers will flame,
you’ll trash cars, make TVs burn. The girls
will fluff you ‘til you scream.

I can show you how to make evil your only good.

2.

The cold is spiteful.
It gets colder every endless day.
Nobody visits.
The TV sucks.

When Dogs Attack.
Snog, Marry or Avoid.
My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding:
You don’t need me anymore.

The greatest trick you ever pulled
was to convince me I don’t really exist.

Pass me my inhaler.

And I only eat when I‘m lonely.
(Don’t judge what you cannot understand.)

It is so dry and cold down here.

What I miss is rain.
The softness of rain.