13 November 2008

Elvis and Diana


He's been really nice to me since
Christmas, the long why and
Winding wherefore lost in the post I
Count up before work. It's the usual
Gruesome scene, bills swathed in red
Bloody red and the little mouth of
Despair-cum-letterbox mewls pitilessly like
A Cure song, deliverer of the news - a
Letter from Nemesis, Kentucky. He's
Schtupping this Elvis Costello look-a-like he
Found in the personals ads ("Indie kid SOH but
Doesn't respond to jokes seeks Bi
On the seat of his pants") biting his
Neck in some cineaste's wet dream
Deep downtown fucking in a wheelie
Bin, all filmic with sick and some A star
Graffiti: The King Is Dead So How Come I
High-Fived Him In Woolworths? Same wet
Dream I had this morning before I woke
Up to the vacuum-cleaner and the imprint of airless
Space on his side of the bed that spoke of the
Intelligent rocker shades Elvis rescued him in,
His sepulchral Krall, fanning him with jazz hands night
After night when the crowds have gone home.

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