Thursday, 13 June 2013

L

waiting for your axe to grow
gods on peddle boats chasing eggshells round the cattle market.
old women stop to tell the time and beg for food.
neat lines of school children on each side of the highway.
plaster their faces around town, not a looker among them.

waiting for your axe to grow
scooters with training wheels spreading fire retardant necklaces.
gallons of chai chai chai chai chai.
handlebar mustaches.
brown skin and socks full of sugar.
foxes of fury consigned to old buses constructed from German ideas.

waiting for your axe to grow
the toilet is down the hall but is no more than a deep dark hole
- your shit passes from one black hole to another -
but we do have bum showers.
seems we can forget time for times sake.
hard to impress the bagel man these days.
hes got no solutions for the environmental questions you dropped by the snake pit.

waiting for your axe to grow
garnish your own life with flowers before helping others with theirs.
watching spunk bubbles skip across the lake.
in hell the beer is cold but it tastes of vertigo.
we'll wave at each other as we pass and swap pistols and watches.
can't say I have ever been woken up that way but it was wonderful.
pages 145 to 195 are gone.

waiting for your axe to grow
the past is here, the leaves still fall and lillys still float.
the children suck lolly pops as father fucks horses before each race.
you'll get bitten hard if you go down to the shores.
take the boat, its faster than smoking up rain storms.

waiting for your axe to grow
in hotel lobbies buttoned up in pear orchards.
millions of eyeballs rippling across the mountains.
there are so many colours.
I'll tell you how to say my life vest is drowning.
only on the journey out as by the time you come back they'll have your money.

waiting for your axe to grow
backbase and what the backbase wants.
at this altitude my balls start to tingle when they touch your face.
such a beautiful place.
innocent curiosity and a distinct lack of thought.
the chimp in the dress has pissed on the carriage floor.

waiting for your axe to grow
watch your feet gents.
no one body knows how to get there.
I shall see you up north where the ladies shave their ovens.
wasps in the post office but the clerks don't give a toss.
your mother used to sit here.

waiting for your axe to grow
just a tiny nibble.
boxes of hoofs lit with hate.
sunshine bouncing off her breasts.
give a laugh and help push sincerity from the map.
none of your type aloud to make trees grow past your sitting bones.

waiting for your axe to grow
white shirts in back pockets mixing pencil shavings and no smoking signs.
monkeys.
meet me round the back.
draconian measures fly like spent nappies.
across tea plantations the spirits are lifted.
a right teapot and nutty driving with the lights off.
some strokes take your teeth and polish them up for grannies wake.

waiting for your axe to grow
ice coffee and the artists.
my wife is crying.
throw your hands up towards electricity wires.
sticky fingers caught in fishing nests while the newest guest injects in front of the television.
plan your new move and how to say goodbye.

waiting for your axe to grow
the ending and faces in time.
carpets that cover up those bad deeds and the French.
nick nacks follow ass cracks from one station shaken up and burned through.
balaclavas on tiny sculls.
odd uniforms and extra long naps.

waiting for your axe to grow
urine therapy.
the smallest strawberry you have ever seen.
aspergers's cocktail.
collect green cards and brush your teeth with twigs.
pulling out the sugar cane.
push the button with the arrows and
drag your feet.

waiting for your axe to grow
couch beds and artist head.
I whisper in a mouses ear before she takes me the prostitutes quarter.
no real friends, its 
paper Ghandi they desire.
friends are white,
usually. 
she is afraid of him.
I disagree. 

waiting for your axe to grow
falling was much to easy.
I was built for mountains, though
not these daft things. 
strangely shaped balding heads.
their asses roll quite perfectly.
sleeping on matted shag as the desert slams through the window.  
a child with too many teeth tries to touch my feet,
strange. 
and I realise I miss her. 
altitude is a loveless bitch.

waiting for your axe to grow
one hand across your heart, the other on the penis.
the stool from your eyes 
may stain hair, skin or fabric. 
beautiful calls to prayers. 
the bastards have made it too sweet. 
Himalayan hair cuts.
I left my lime green underpants in London. 

waiting for your axe to grow
spark one up on an aeroplane .
what have I come to find here?
the only Scotsman for a hundred miles. 
mistakes mistakes mistakes mistakes.
standing in a third world country
as the tanks roll in town.
I was told there would be shit tickets.
come to stare at a building. 
you'll not recognise me these days
 waiting for your axe to grow
what was it all for?
you can't defecate by the kerb
in this place.
ain't any of that shit here ma' boy!
digestion contemplation these
things last a life time because we're all
waiting for your axe to grow