Cock-eyed, Crazy and Die

Cock-eyed, Crazy and Die

Dole Scum Bum Poets,
You don’t know us but you’ll know it,
Liquefying, coalescing,
thermoplastics, fabrication,
melting and molten,
a weld pool made by electric arcs.
Sculpture, with stone, metal, casts,
a heart made of glass,
shards of shatters,
shards in my heart,
splattered and punctured,
blood in my lungs,
coughing up plumes of dust.

Port through a straw,
is that port through that door
Or starboard? I never was sure.
Are you trying to lure me
on the ship for shore?
There’s no cure -
Coz I don’t like quotes, boats,
or rhyming prose,
And Spock out of Star Trek scares me.
Behind every door is a whore,
like a game show with panties galore,
bought from a cheap newsagent store,
Hosted by Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee,
We won the show and ate her panties for tea.

“Pickled port perfectly poured
by princess whores onto perverts pricks”,
Juliet jotted the words that were
Rotted, that spewed from her brain
as drugs drove her insane,
I wanted a cure, instead I got
more than I bargained for.
Juliet played the clarinet,
I hated the noise,
it caused me distress.

Up, down, under, around, inside and out,
Let’s give it a clout,
That’s what mum did, if ever in
doubt,
And if ever bemused
I slapped her right back, much amused
I gave her a shiner,
So she ripped out my spine…urrgh,
It was disgusting, alive and twitching,
elongating itself but
twisted I said “You can stay out of my body,
That workmanship’s shoddy. I’m going to God,
see if he’ll bring me back as a gay black male dog.”
I said my goodbyes and off I went
And left
Polly to hold up the air vent
and the scent of my soul ascended,
To the sky,
Dr Sky, Hi!
Sky would have fallen straight over
the white cliffs of Dover, except she flew
with the grace of a gull,
flew straight ahead and cracked her skull -

inside were maggots,
They laughed gay as faggots
And screamed as they drowned in the sea,
a sea we made with our own wretched pee,
a sea so stale,
stale with ale,
with a passing stench
a stench from a wench
And that was the end of us…


Here lies Le d:
Straight laced, drinks tea,
Northern poet,
Smash my grave up and throw it.

Here lies Dr Sky:
Testament to the youth of Essex,
port pervert and painkiller pansy,
liked it through a straw and off the cuff,
long may she sleep.




By dole scum bum poets