For when I sing and no one listens,
Sweet rhythms glistening like
crystals on lemon drops
sucked to shards,
to cuts and crimson mouths,
to sucking sounds,
to smacking lips and
The sweetness of sugar-dusted trickery,
a sticky treacle
trickling into dumb lyrics –
dumb with treachery –
A song to sing on Tuesday’s at ten a.m.
with no one home
when you stayed in:
Where no one will listen with ears,
Where no one will speak with mouths,
Where no one will look with eyes,
Where no one will understand or try to argue.
Whilst they are at their work,
selling minds for space and time,
I am quenched by a lemonade serenade;
My only regret the sweetness of my song,
too sweet to taste
too sweet to swallow.
And so, drenched in blood,
I load words into a sawn-off shotgun,
Spit out the sugar
And blow their fucking heads off.