Oh! door that you must be closed and locked to remain open to possibility.
Oh! curtains drawn forever to the world outside let me never see through you again in the hope
that one day I may pass beyond unnoticed and untouched.
a child in a man’s body sits alone surrounded by a wardrobe, desk, lights, reading lamps, pillows, duvets, whitest of white bedsheets and two single beds, the latter of which I am perched on.
In perching do I persist to pursue this through till the end of all the moments cascading down the waterfall of whiskey into ginger ale then soda pop because it was too sweet the first time.
The desk looks onto a mirror which looks onto the man-boy now desolate with fear and frenzy. He might ask himself is this me?
then again how can you be so sure it is
how could he possibly know if it wasn’t?
Notice his bloodshot left eye how sinister and that too on the left his slightly asymmetrical ear.
The algebra, fifty-fifty, half something half the other, demi-man; demi-boy, semi-erect; semi-lying,
down, perching again, on the edge of a seat of wonders
so velveteen in its desire to be soft and softer than you.
am at 51 Buckingham gate, a pen has informed me, but how did I end up here if it wasn’t through a fecundity of bourgeois bafflement at the current state of my life. Reaping the benefits like death does to souls of the living and the dead too
am sure of it because it was written somewhere by someone at sometime in the something period of some sum of artistic innovation. Somewhere under this bed cover there is room for questioning.
Inhale exhale smoke drink
skate through this experience with the sobriety of special brew.
Inhale and exhale
before the night sky and the stars and moonlight, smoke rings around the couple walking arm in arm below, will they look up at me or carry on walking?
The door opens and closes,
they never looked up
not even in a flickering
candle light moment of surrender
to the awesome prowess of the man-boy
on the balcony staring at them
with a frown of fury.
Fury fury fury the further
it pushes and forces the eyes
yoked now in furrows of skin
and tiny tiny hairs.
This is for them,
the gay couple I prejudge to be happy
they walk arm in arm while my arm dangles
here with my fingers clutching
a death stick for dear life.
51 Buckingham gate has fantastic room service
this flat would fetch over a million
what can they do for a lonely arm?
The steak was tasty,
filling and moist
it bled for me
I cut it
my other arm
your lonely arm
wants to join
they could have been alone together
if only we had wished for it.
51 Buckingham gate has 51 drinks in the cabinet
I’ve tried only one, which is between my 5 fingers
there is a one in five chance
that the next girl I meet might love the boy in me
that the woman in her will love the man I claim to be.
One in five what is this but generic guesswork?
One line in five stressed and five unstressed syllables
what is this but fluke chance and convention?
One in five plus five equals one in ten
one in ten is more than a percentage
it is how many times we touch and
I make you come to me with christmas presents,
we sing carols & our bodies become
formless contortions in the crown of thorns.
51 Buckingham gate has no durex
I’m not sure where 52 is
for arguments sake
52 is you and I am here:
you are there are you not?
Being there you are not
here with me,
I let my eyes
into cinema screens:
Oh yes finally hurray huzzah hallelujah hare krishna!
CURTAINS you may draw yourselves and let me peak,
let me stand tall and erect and firm before you
gripping you and tugging you one way back the other -
quick before its too late - a tissue if you cry my dear.
CURTAINS you may sigh and relax,
just let the wheel spin on, on behind closed eyes shut,
wide eyes opening the gates of memory.
YES this single bed, last time I slept in you I was single,
I shared you with the girl in this movie,
the acetate squelches on ruffling popcorn packets
ripping open new ones, placing them on my lap.
Oh door lead me to you, open thyself, please be forever
unlocked to me, let me never forget your face. just turn
this handle, whoosh and swing open and never close
so I may sing my song in screen 51 at the odeon.
These curtains aren’t closing and this is an ode to
Yes! Yes! Yes! back and forth and back and forth,
now all I can see is your face.
Tonight I can feel the same way I did then -oh!
single bed with your white vatican virgin sheets
thank you for reminding me what it means to be alive/
and a week later we fucked unprotected.