#NICKLETCHFORD

[wordsonly]

Glide

Glide …

Down upon

The teeth of the city.

Filed and rising to pierce

A silhouetted stroke

Of deep cyanic smoke.

London’s secret key

Gothic spines

Strewn with red glitter

To flicker

Against the ember dusk, of 1983

A Greek demi-god,

Fast young gun

Fly’in 308

To the carnal thrum

In ecstasy

An Eudaemon

Who wants to come

Into the pleasuredom

Erect

At one million miles an hour !

Soul boy

Flashing

White lines

Into red

Horse power

On down hill stretch

Number 11

Gotta take what you’ve got

To the edge of heaven

N’ glide…

.

[wordsonly]

The creeping entanglements

Seventy thousand hours

In a circle.

We have been swallowed up

Waiting where the dead lie

A life of passion

Carved in words

A stone angel

Lost,

To the bind weed.

Bittersweet trumpets

Seed the delusory

Burdensome armature of being.

.

[wordsonly]

The Hollow

Eats saturated fats.

Licks a black knife’s edge

With parched, furry tongued

Serpentine flexotation

Blathers

In a head hole

Coruscating

Thunder

Scratching

The majesty of overreaction.

One hundred orders breathed

To the far reaches, of the pocket tooniverse

Where gang stars oppress without words

The flow of unnamed terrors

Spiral in the fragments of humanity

Streaks pulsating in colourful directives

Fire neon risk

Upon our caroteneous

Orangeade rebellion

Silence,

Golden

Bangs it’s loneliness

On the floor

A head bumped.

Fearfully hosting possibilities

Window shopping doting new lovers.

Far away from a child

Who see painful flashes

The stings of injustices past

Uninvited glowing criticisms

Persecutions

Re-running

No. We are finger lick’in.

Good in the void.

We grease the pan and chew the fat

Double fried and jam filled

Wrapped in clear paper.

Let us lounge,

Brilliantly drunk

Touch-screening the breasts

Of the pornographic sorceress

To gyrate with perfect athletesism

On the limp telegraph of incredulous lack.

We fly headlong into the rhythmic thought emanations

Deflectors crackling.

He, competing for love in this weak sequel

On his earth

The days stood still

A perfect peace

Artless, Musicless

Castrated from the tumescent poetry

of love.

She. Lost in grief

Rests on a four poster

In a five bedroom dream home