poor little thing, twisted creature
waiting for the end of days, bent
all elevation, I buy you a drink,
prop me up, as I steal the shade.
uncovered, undressed, undone,
is that what I want, you giggle,
anyway I taunt, get to drinking
while there is still time and money

the shift starts empty without you,
picking up boxes and smiling to
the man, I forget I have balls as
I place money in to the till, the dark
contorted place overflowing with dreams
then I remember how i shook you,
the previous night like a whirling
disillusion, that really was not waste
i sprayed, it was something Stravinsky
composed, alive burned and cloaked,
I smelled that warpaint scent for days.

I watched those hips as I watch them
now like vidoetape in sweet slumber,
plants planted deep in forest slums,
probably the brightest slum you ever
came across, oh boy let's get a drink,
the bar is full but there's no one in,
no wine left, miserable ego-less, I stumble
you dribble at the thought but yes I
hurt inside like ground glass spewing from the ass,
if only I had a chance, but I did and
still the wine has gone.