Wednesday 10 June 2015

My Poetry: The Glasses Have Paper Skirts

The glasses have paper skirts
In this Bavarian citySquatting on the banks of the Rheine.We: me and frau; Boozer and barmaid,Have been enemies since1977, when I was expungedInto a homeland of indoctrination,
Just don't mention the football.
And, right now, As semiotcs wage war: 
Suit versus denimFreedom versus career,
Strange tongue versus mute ear
I think about fucking her.
Her round bum plump
In blue, washed out jeans
I'm disgusted by my
Carnal flesh instincts
Driven by beer and lack of sleep.
But while she serves, she serves.
There is no fancy science
Math or philosophy tonight,
As the rain slaps the window,It is the biology of fucking,
Thigh, hip, belly;
The desire to conquer
Her snow white hills, my Everest,
I lose time in reverie of desire.
I am a man, and she a woman?
Hot blooded mammals
Contained within skirt and trouser.
Are we not just two pieces
Of the lords flesh?
I want to ask her.
Shall we not decay, if we do not
Allow the waters of love
To make us pure
And fresh as a plucked apple,
Shall we not die
If we do not fuck right now 
across this old bar table?

No comments:

Post a Comment