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bill on pancake day

bill will eat flowers as if strewn wings
floor borne, in the bibles pages
bloodbath lessons-  or magdalene
as sally listens in by the bathroom door.
bill tied in to the drainpipe,
sally on the crack of light like vapour
simpleness of pleasure as if a shriek
could unblood crushed nuts or feather
fly him sideways to where the sun is hotter
and gelded horse would snicker at the thing
which dangles from his tenderness,
it's what she licks, cat mewl or lipped around a bowl  -
what she loves as if lisping words like precious would
slake that lotion thirst from him.
bill is ten idiots from her but she has fast hands
and the wriggle makes her squirm, she wets for violence
blushing roses at the rope and lipstick on his
loose string purse.
maracas played like soundtrack, like the crisp clack
of train on the bee line to the outback where he thinks
she can not hear them,
- in her hand, in her fucking tender fist
are his set, his own blue flesh
yellowness thinks itself dead
to her pancake batter cruelty
flips itself to gravity
love like rainbow
and bill like rain
slumps mud
crying into dust.

15 Feb 16

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only to confirm that i am the great pretender
 — DeformedLion

Jackson browne? now that dude is the true pretender. But that song is way to sad for your poem.

This series is always happy.
 — PollyReg

I am Bill's great attractor.
 — Known

I am bill's smirking revenge
 — jenakajoffer

yes you certainly have confirmed that, lino.

i really love what you've done here, so fancy, real interwoven plot of the past, yet a teensy growth that caught that last train to N'orleans.

ten idiots is my fucking favourite.  that whole stanza had me falling off my chair. i'm crying into dust because i hate the way you write bill in 3rd person. but i guess you can't write first person, bill is mine.
 — jenakajoffer

Tell me dirty blanket boy, what inspired you on this one?
 — jenakajoffer