(Lichtenstein's Still Life with Red Wine)
He was the sort that
Would carry beer mats in his
Covert coat pocket
For unstable tables that
Would bump into him often
Borscht spat Benday dots
On badly lain flags by The
Absolute Friday
Nighters with Stazi barnets
He was tucked up to avoid
The down dent left by
Second story safe haul was
The cheek suck of the
Bar girl's neat note for the numb
'er for ambivalence see
(Dalí's Lobster Telephone)
The sniff dog's nod not
Bread of expectation not
Stall tied to edge the
Clamourous bus burr was he
Quall to the fuss of walking
You bets whispered in
Two battered whiskers placed by
The strife eternal
Diced and shifted gifted to
The nowhere not even odd
There not could provide
A new collar to button
He put his finger
Right the fuck on it tonic
And crossed the narrow road wide
(Bertelli's Profilo Continuo (Testa di Mussolini))
The memorial
To the dog with two dicks he
Passed the bronzed pigeon
Shat on statue to a simp
Pairing tit of the drool stool
Kinder scoots strewn as
Homeless folk's strewth dotted he
Spotted the libr'ry's
Shut as John's paper shop was
Like his cigarette rolled up
He lingered fingered
For an excuse for a coin
Not choc lit he flicked
Through the poetry bit of
Sue Ryder's put out of sorties
(Herakut's I got quite good at hiding the herd from those who kill beauty for fun)
Crisp his soup head dreamt
Of rye bread but not that sort
Beyond caged whistles
And mirrors of his drying
Window sun budget cigar
Pickled plates a cream
American Frank furs the
Diner's sound soured at
Psycho records on plastic
That jukebox lent him in thin
He judge watched narrow
Eyes and James Dean smiles so snuck
The doorway dark as
Fuck to hear imagine ary
Women there misplaced for luck
