Tuesday, 2 April 2013

Christ's Other Mess

The precise precision of plastic
Furnished flower-pots made me queasy.

Obnoxious day-glow orange refulgence,
Undercooked mince, port-wine indulgence.

I vomit.

I urinate amidst skunk odor, pale gnomes
Flaking paint. Alcoholic allusion lisp.

A buddha reduced to a whore.

Remains of a banal astucious display,
Abscess on the way, blue-jay decorated wings,

Flowering wheelie-bins & nothing.
Judgmental? … Fuck it!

I pray.

The door swings on in its hinges,
Behind me, concluding Christmas.

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