Giant big bollocks!

Giant big bollocks that fill space
Mutating till they
Burst,
Leaving trails of everything we tried
So hard to hide,
In aromas
Under spices
Beds of dead meat, cured and cut
This is a work of art
At its best, doing the worst,
Little fucking butterflies – black rodents with big shit-strewn wigs
Sneaking it between slices of cheese
And nutritious vegetables
That burst
Leaving nothing.
Bubble pink love, vacuous, fills space
Aggravating loneliness
It grunts and groans
In my giant bollocks
In the air that I let out.
In the sudden bursts
In between words
“Excuse me.”
As a measure to find pardon
For all that I am
All that I hide
It’s bound to come out
Children of lust, greed and love
Everything that smells of everything
I vomit. I vomit. I vomit.
I am cleaner, I am waiting.
Will you take me home?

An ode to the sounds of Pop

Bubble wrap glistens in the sun,
Wink wink wink as they burst
A nail creases the swelling,
Trying to control the heaving
Kneel kneel kneel, whore.
You are breaking below surfaces
Only to stab your own skin
There’s no point to this pain, love
Except to pass summer afternoons
Crouched, gargoyle-style, head to the ground
Listening
For songs of lovers
Pop pop pop, the song goes
They sing along, these lovers, loudly, sincerely
Because like bubble wrap, these songs make more sense when misplaced
Outside boxes, in craving hands
That want to tame, tame, tame
Hear fragile things burst
With very little protest.
We sing these songs because we are on a rather long route, now that we are on board
And bubble-gum songs are the only thing that last
Past worries, creases, anger, welts and scars.
All your anger will swirl swirl swirl
With the psychedelic lights of the pop pop pop
and in that happy moment
Everything will be alright

Love is a disco song with no meaning.