From: at-banff (27/7/98)


Barking over the mobile
-its an undercover cop shop op'-
unveilling the flag
stained with a plip plop

Saluting the best bless'd
flying half mast flags
putting down tramps with a passenger's consternation:
forever flagging down trains in a forever wrong railway station.

While each empty beggar's heart beat
pounds with the fear
of a cop's frock body searched
-you cunt/cock-
maybe pistol whipped
or maybe boxed 'round the ear.

Pushing vagrants to call you
a criminal good guy
of pornographic proportion
viewed from a zip high
worm's eye
-is he jerking off?- distortion

With suits leering down,
eyeing a sexless
sally anne dress,
fantasizing a wonderbra wriggle
supporting a "hello boys" chest,

wheezily inhaling
-at about shop door's exhaust pipe height-
mentally undressing where
someone else staggered
to piss last night.

In this wunderkabinet of curios
a trap door opens under that dharmic
safety net of yours:
making love in god's zen zone
scratching road movie bed sores.

On camera we stagger by,
drunken pavement-curb-to road
you fake walking into lamposts
we laugh
fondling a turned up nose...

We're discussing
what the president does of a night
when the P.A's
bleeding her heart out for the right:
Mr P. stiffens up
and shoots off his load
the spit hits the flag
and off he jogs
down the crack filled road

But the sperm only lasts
-action packed with the pious-
for 48 hours
enough time to dry clean the streets
or, to hang out in the showers.

                                        m. dunlop 27/7/98