Snow blind baby
You go ‘cross that invisible line-
I think maybe you will find a bogey man.
There is no going back.
Ooh! Too scary.
Jesus Mary Mother Of God!
This tarnished incarnation has a shelf life
Not short of torture. Ow! Ow!
....This is how
....Gash and clit
....Cash and kids
....Trash can lids
....Tits this, tits that,
....Shit pillow chat
....As per her purr-
....Me outfit want.
....You fuck my cunt
....Me outfit wear.
....God so approves
....That Jesus grooves
....The twelve disciples
SHUT
Inviting. Enticing. Hairy scrotal sacs.
Cut bell ends pressing closet buttons.
The Catholic hypocrites are in sex session.
Cross-dressers lifting cassocks.
Paedophiles in long files blinding us
To fuck-ups in the lea of wine and wafers.
....Black smoke
....White ascension puffs
....Has God’s virgin vicar balls enough
....To invent fresh means to be
....Demeaning to unclean women
....To perpetuate the myth
....That Onan was a naughty man
....A spliffed up wanker still ranked
....Higher than the whore of Babylon.
....Give her one up the bum son
....The way the priests gave you lessons
....When you least expected it
....In the crypt where your anus gripped
....His stiff Holy Father stick.
....Mummy, mummy give me dummy.
....Only women bleed. Steal seed.
....Spit it. Shit it. Leak it onto
....Gussets made complete with wings.
....In confession fat birds sing-
....Sick of dick, means to an end,
....We want to lick our lesbian friends.
....If I have a son I want him to be
....A brown one, a gay one.
THE FUCK UP!
PILLS! PILLS! GIVE ME THE FUCKING PILLS!
There is the fear of just not seeing
The flutterbyes of being fearless,
Being found out to be queer
But queerless,
Accepting we are nearly boundless.
The Kama Sutra metaphysics
Makes you hesitate;
It makes you stumble
Makes life crumble into soundless dust.
Strayed saint
Your grey-strait’s silence
Is a cowardly way to confess.
Yes. A common enough mistake
Symptomatic
Of the tragic progression
Made by man’s repressive
State of mind.
A predictable affliction
Of swervacious men unkind.
Fucking
Tough on The Queer Messiah me-
Always driven,
Hammered into cruciform wood-
The virgin trees inside of me needing to be
Fancy free
To think, to blink and act on lust impulse,
To wink with an uncensored impunity,
Given my Poet’s immunity
From mortal sin. Tee BLOODY hee.
I can fucking see it clearly now
How repulsive
You find unbinding gene genie bonds,
Moving on,
Belonging
In the yellow yolk and cum encumbered albumen
Set cracking in the nest of destiny.
I hear your gardener’s inner songs,
Classy lack-lustre,
The breves of boredom droning on;
You sing of loathing wings
And pug ugly baleful things-
The hideous and invidious imprintings
Parent BRED neurotic to fledgling SAID psychotic.
Baby crow’s feet set
In knee deep concrete.
BLOOD! BLOOD! FUCKING BLOOD!
You go to fly my love
And when the wailing pain of failing cries
Like bone splints
From your shackled heels-
All the world’s wise creatures
Will feel the evil crack
Of that soul poacher’s trap.
You know.
Better the devil you know-
Jesus Christ on Saturday nights,
Satan on the Sunday.
Fuck me Jehovah! It’s BLOODY Monday.
You got stuck on Wednesday baby.
When I am happy my tired smile
Drools grey noodles of congealing spunk-
Whose seed it is, I care not a toss.
Face and bum cheeks straining at the thought of
Counting back too many strange cocks.
COME ON! Game off.
To think I once
Believed it was conceivable
To magic up a mythic miracle
To dance outside your circumstantial
Trance state.
Hell!
While we were being elevated to heaven.
I was shooting porn in Gran Canaria
Bungalow eleven.
It was a sensual leviathan of fun.
Now the whole idea of us
Is too bent out of shape,
Distant, far too far-fetched,
A wretched stretch of buttered butt
No more contemplated by you.
Ask Jack the way it works,
Jerks back and forth, an enemy
Of sexual stability.
It hurts. It hurts.
A pitying knell has rung to bring an end to play.
More lessons.
My Will-he-won’t-he Tell-tale bear
Has put his momentous bow and arrows away.
I take the untouched apple from my crown.
This is my cue-
I bite into the sour fruit to free myself from you-
Useless juice flows down my beard
Like tears turned into dry cider.
It’s been
An afternoon of summing up- mathematics,
A simple division of parting hearts.
Thought acrobatics with no safety net.
The sawdust circle begging for
BLOOD.
That raw fact screams
At my already cheese-wired neck
Like your pet X-box vampire bat
Attempting to put back the BLOOD INK that you sucked
From my virtual cock
To pen me passionate letters with.
I’ve watched all those dried to rust brown
Words- bits of my river fluid self,
Lift
Like ghosts made of smoke
From a rained on
Half-dead bonfire of winter leaves.
Christmas still twinkling in red neon berries
On the frost buggered shrubs.
The New Year howling
Like a wolf-witch wielding his new broom
Looming at my bedroom window
Tongue out, dick in.
How small
Could this lost society be-
Well,
I am gone. Lofted way too tall,
Grown too fond of cock and arse-n-balls.
Fuck me!
I love my moral busting wanderlust minority.
You protesting too much suspect hets-
I shall not be parted from it.
Yes dear, queer dear,
Not ever worth the fuckin’ secret call
To arms.
Arms of deceit.
Arms in retreat,
Defeated ‘fore a shot of gizz was fired.
This love/hate/love is no longer war.
But you’ve let me unilaterally fashion a peace-
Our gay territory, I guess,
A stereotypical gift, ‘THE THEY’ repeatedly say,
IT of us
...Recidivist spunk alcoholics,
...Ginger bearded angels
...Touched by nature’s pink smudge stick.
ENOUGH!
I could never be
The beast to hurt you.
His unbidden hooves stir dirt
For no-one.
So
At the very least see
Virtue
In letting me be me.
Chris Madoch © 2008