Sleeping drunk under a bridge
The night sands caressing my face
The disco dancers are still about
Roaring against rhythms that should destroy them
But only give them more power
I watched the seagulls circumambulate the sun
In a disorderly procession
Against which their shrieks were rung
This is not a lyric ballad
But the last desperate jottings
Of a lovelorn tramp
Catapulting himself over furniture
In riverside taverns
Like a peacock of the night
I glitter and gleer
Unleashing my tail feathers
Faces all around detonate with delight
Every dartboard becomes a kaleidoscope
And the jukebox a sacred transmitter
Through which the Words of God are heard
But God is a cross-dresser
Like a Shakespearian heroine
She disguises herself as a handsome boy
But is happy to get her tits out
If she thinks it’ll do her any favours
“I’ll give you Ten Commandments
If you’ll give me ten lashings on the bum!”
She proposes, with a lurid wink
But, of course, she’s just as drunk as I am
How else could she have made me
Without falling into my fermented pisspot?
Or pulling up the wine of truth
From a fountain so deep?
Ah, Rosalind, you saucy Pagan romancer!
Won’t you banish yourself from your court
To get lost in my ghastly wood?
It would be awfully good if you would!
I’ll twinkle gently as the spaceship lands
For I’m going home tomorrow
To find the barroom in the stars