Image

A bag for life; plasticated bulge, ripped

he checked in, shatting up his chat-lines to blue-suit blonde, said:

“I’ve left my life, come to Holiday Inn,”

her smile, stopped at her lips, provokes

A thought -from sub, conned:

Man-hands swaddled

Arms up, sharp and sour (raw-run death fucker)

Face aches in wide screen – HD-

You dreamt this

Went all out to get this:

“My loss: my gain”, ingrained memory spunk, pitted on

your dental floss,

blown wideandfar, spilling outta pink bins

painted like rouged pigs

their strands strewn for yards (and sewn) we

sat on bricks

saying : “lonely man’s idiocy; lonely man’s adultery”

you second that, in time

means less to go on\

no fingers to bring up

that guttural squelch, greenscreen freeze

tinned headphone shriek

three stumps stuck throaty disdain affluence

pitched o’er reception wadded accented oik

a piss stain on y-fronts of life

he said, with a straight face:

“the grass isn’t greener,

the grass is half-dead”

and the other side

of that fence

is matted with silage,

so rank,

“I can barely beat one off and be caught in two minds”

To that, she did smile,

Handed ‘cross the keycard, her chapped, claptrap hands

A patron, ionised, to room 101,

he walked in silence