Bottle thrasher

the ghost
within
writhes
like hot wire
sparkling in blue
dripping fire

So much
loss between words
hissed through the
torn kiss

taste the blood of the
juice nick seconds

flow sweet tangerine
sunshine
in black pumps
criss cross cup

butterfly blade in
the chic little packet

the bottle rolls off the
broken table
and smashes on the
floor

and a heel tottering
crushs glass

television says nothing
nothing at all
and the blind eye of
window shows the
white teeth of building
lights

your eyes are flourescent
scopes with tangient
waypoint pupils
round as bullet
chambers on quick load

I can feel your nails
diggin in my arm
strong enough to fix
whatever isnt fucking broken

but Im a burned down
hospice
still smouldering where
I burn
the purple flames
have touched you

and you suck in air
with pleasure wince
drinking the last
of the Pernod

hitting the heights
of the tarmac
where we lift off

Chris and Cosey trance
seeping into the
sink of the mind

and night crawls into
the corners and cries
looking for the lost
stars that have
fallen

fallen in Lust