the graphic forecourt intercourse

anxious to start the car up

twisting ignitionists
pretending just like me

drumming their fear through fingers
revving, gesticulating, tailgating
through anaesthetic smokescreens

not me crawling in
heady the smell is

drive by hangings
spied through a petroleum haze

can’t stop to think
for no one dare stop
the masquerade

consumer carnival of the insane

an ear bitten off to general indifference
feral kids leading a tramp away
egged on by the DJ

Go on Go on – whatever you want

burn oil to fever pitch

tramp got crucified
not my fight
foot down , accelerate
go home
disintegrate

Wake up God Damn It

on the third day
be brave

pick up the cross once again



there is no other way