Rust
Crawls down the side of my water tank life
Cuts like a knife
Sluts like my wife
And you'd like her too
People usually do
Puss
Seeps from the seams of our festering souls
Mostly just dripping
Ghostly and gripping
Slipping
Slipping
And if only I knew
And if only I had the questions
And the moment to ask
If only I had the shoes in which to dance
To take a chance to free myself
Enough to paint a portrait
Of my paternal grandma
Nude in public
Rude and pubic
Rubix, Cubic
Sex
Resides in the core of my labyrinth mind
Masturbating minotaur
Saucy and sinister
Half man, half bullock
Large swollen bollocks
Mostly just swinging
Itchy and stinging
Stinging
And there will be times, there will be times
When sunset falls
Like a wingless bird
Never to sing again
Never to wing again
There was an old man called Michael Finnegan
He grew whiskers
Like magical Mr Mistoffelees
In the room the women come and go
Talking of contract law and weightloss shows
But if only they knew
And if only they could see the light
If only they could watch me try to write
The songs I long to write
And right the wrongs I thought I might
I mixed my colours with my whites
I now fight the tie-dye fight
In mighty tight trousers
And really big shoes
And nothing to lose
But my stiffy
I grow old
I grow scared
I shall wear my pre-worn trousers flared
And while the shadow may lie
Between ideas and facts
One can lyrically wax
The more interesting gaps
Like the soft bit that sits
Twixt your arseholes and sacks
We're living in the
Perineum Millennium
The in between years
Not front bum or back bum
Not fiction or factum
Nor ideas nor reality
Not the shadow nor the hollow