Merry Trix

Sweet meats, all bred to be meretrices- learned or dull,

Humble man wearing a frown 'turns away no one',

I press myself against the ground and speak to it sometimes,

On the floor of my house,

Reason vanishes, meteorites burst into the sink,

Bed collapses himself, then breaks apart,

So I stop talking.

Little City, wait! Don't disappear!

"Influx of hot dog and adverts too much, I'm gone!"

Desperate as we are, how has it come to this?

The loss of Little City, the ink in the books still wet,

Tired ant-soul wilts in the dark, so I talk to the floor again,

Brazen dissonance this time, bleak depth,

Crooked weakness too,

The table rises up on its hind-legs,

It seems to panic at the sight of the fridge –

Screaming condiments all over the kitchen,

Motionless on the floor,

I am sleeping beneath sublunary flushes,    

The table flees the house and takes the door with it,

I drag myself up, one step at a time until I collapse

At the top of the stairs

Ethereal Power of the Hot Dog -

The Regulator performs its task with a delicate ferocity,

Drifting above the floor - the cars outside speak to the birds,

The birds speak to the people.

For some reason people don’t speak to each other anymore,

I’m reminded of a song,

That song the radiator plays some nights, but it isn’t important

"Rabid without any teeth, river-bound without a boat..."

The loveless interest of a sleeping hand

The impervious wall of waste

The pain of being a Japanese whale

The humble man turns no one away