Out on a whim
Do or die –
live fast , party hard –
be an honorific rebel.
Shake me up,
Colour me bold!
Don’t wind me down – use a font that sounds like Bevel.
If I could jump in that diamond-encrusted box with you, would you promise that when the children come by we could uncoil, spring up, put on the frighteners – bob up and down on a wire?
I don’t mind you playing the feral monkey but those cymbals screech: overtrained!
we need a new theatrical,
a mind-body infused,hell-raising gospel choir.
It’s a happening, baby – right over here. Club Fifty-Four.
Andy Warhol is in New York – a shimmering and a shammering with his latest regurgitated muse, lapping up the froth off his candy-coloured eye-popping corps.
It’s all the craze.
It deserves a mention.
Yo, budding journalists get your jots and pens out, pay attention to the latest and greatest.
News knew how to mark us – with the blackest of plagues.
Fish and chips to go, in ink -lined, soggy wrapping?
Spill out your guts with this slick new verse, congenial wordsmith.
Toxic misty breath continues to reign -centuries later, none of us is the wiser to what we are all truly cursed with.
Need a blood test or has Fate told you to put up your feet and take a light rest?
Rest is of the idle boned – the ones whose gums recede in a world of a decade ago of old, gravelly deflated pillows, grimy duvets sprayed with remnants of last night’s perhaps last months dalliance.
Life is to be played.
Hard and fast.
No one wants to party with some skittle who loses the colour of his new shades – when the beat kicks in and he is meant to advance without a second glance.
Rookies, pawns, knights and queens.
Who should we really be saving?
Strategy demands the benefits calculated tested means.
Decrease or increase the stakes of getting a hit.
Snipers above you – numb shoulder – stay still, Mr unfit.
If I could be the monkey, I want to play the trumpet.
Souls are more likely to come my way if they can see few notes breezing over the Mississippi –
Maple syrup to go with that sultry strumpet?
Hard cold cash – transmute people into formidable magpies.
Shiny, wind-up trinkets send these entities up a spiral of canonised lies.
Dance with me – take flight to this notion. All you have to do is follow the lead – go with the flow just don’t step on my toes.
Look me in the eye – don’t worry what the other Ravers are shaking their glowsticks at.
They are revelling in a moment caught up in ecstasy- let go of your own methodical woes.
One night to play – shirt off -loosen that fusty tie – let’s make a play for the dairy queen – The rocky road ahead but it leads to confectionary.
read all about it.
We have a new sweetheart in town – all scarlet glittering lips- she hums the notes of a person who invented this spin.
I will call her whig mal eerie-
non-believers look it up in the dictionary.