Friday, 30 September 2011


From the busy dance floor plumbing
timeworn guitar riffs and synthetic kick drum
for directives, a chorus of high female voices
higher in the speakers’ roar
Like screams in a roaring windstorm stop
opposite the couch I lie on, wave their ringed hands
for no regard, play-fuck me like a stuffed bear
swathe me in their long perfumed jackets.

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