Immense plastic surface reflected immense plastic surface.
Lemon hair, potato nose, shirt, trousers. Distant music.
Rift of Beethoven, fart of Mozart, dash of Haydn.
Which hotel are you staying at?
Schwarzwalderhof. I lied.
Enjoy the local wine.
End of fire. Redlight district. Creak of stairs, unloosened,
unhinged, unredeemed. Image of mindblistering cunt.
Breathless on the stair, caught between the devil and
COMMUNIST PARTY HQ
4 men unfurling a banner. They direct me to a room on a lower
floor. When I arrive there, a derelict, no voices, threats,
entchantments, a burnt out derelict.
THE COMMUNISTS WILL EAT YOUR
I re-hook. Back and forth went the engine in the no nonsense
night. Back and forth, into the womb, tomb and charnel house.
I unhitched the lever, pulled, and spewed forth the perfect
A slow motion shot of me ascending the stair, 4 men unfurling
a banner, concealing the deep bucket of babies bodies. Back
and forth, back and forth thrummed the machine, it seemed to
say, in the repetition of the machines humming, in the
thrum, the deep bowels of the machine, the story is
generated. Back and forth, back and forth, my foot touches
the 5th stair. Everywhere penises are pushing, pulling, back
and forth, a tidal wave of semen is rolling down the stairs
towards me, wrapped up inside a cosmic tortilla. A universe
of babies, all neatly eaten, all gazing like dead squid with
great rotund eyes, out of the botttomless bucket.
And the red tide of Communism is stopped, because out of the
vacuum reverberates the never-ending push and pull of the
miraculous Capitalist penis, pushing the Communists back and
If you've any comments on
this poem, Paul Murphy would be pleased to hear from you.