Blandishments

Growling and erudite in the crucible

of every situation is doing you channeling

circadian remnants of ‘must I reject

everything You are?’ like ‘I used to

transcribe every syllable’ of your liquid

bohemia, as if words were the lead singer

of the Drones viewed from every possible.

If it means something to you I can’t say I

understand what you’re filtering Torrents

of black sand underwiring my silken

jaw taste of Colombia and tripwire panties

with barely a low rider to rub between

the impasse you said, hopefully, but I don’t

know, I always thought there’d be more

Bloodshed. Arguing with you is somehow

Delightful, like having your head held

beneath the tenacious skin of a four foot

wading pool when even the chemically

identical of the outer regions of the

chlorinated think you’re beautiful and

now that Chrissy Amphlett’s gone

what more is there to say?

I thought love was Science Fiction /

until I saw you today