Happy Go Ballocky Bullocky

Holidays in the Sun

 

Mind and heart in revolt

I trade this rain for feedback

these branches are broken guitars

and the lavender mist

smoke drifting in

from  battlefields

 

the smell of mowed grass

covers sulfur and formaldehyde

Holidays in the Sun

–the bombs haven’t gone away

and I’m still waiting

 

the call is loud

I can’t breathe

sitting in this chair

a plucked academic chicken

swords and words confused

 

Idea takes the place

of cheap essential scenery

what I don’t want

is a holiday with a girl

from Birmingham

who wants a glass of water

but I won’t get off her first

 

the whole punk show

a stinking bloody mess

 

a still birth may

give birth again

summers of hate

follow summers of love

in ten year intervals

 

this dead uniform

this corporate boredom

is a grin due for a cracking

the body resurgent

the human detergent

purging the sky of stains

 

let me tell you about money:

“I’ve got no emotion

For anybody else

I’m in love with my self

My beautiful self

No feelings”

 

the hilarity is

that airport puking

johnny dylan pacing

london’s paisley streets

had to rip and kick

a few brains just

to calm down enough

to think

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