Poem: 'THE OGRES OF MIRÓ’S CHILDHOOD'

THE OGRE’S OF 

MIRÓ’S CHILDHOOD/ 

RUNNING ON THE INCH BUTTON 

as of now, we are
following the phosphorescent
trails of snails, jazz-frantic
through psychopathic weed.
You splashed lurid in spray-paint, & me
sprouting a forest of aerials and mirrors.
Looking at you, I know
you can freeze gravity
without the sensory assistance
of touch, with just your pout

we chase the same poems, you & I,
they just wear different words
and get scrambled through different
dogs-eye views of TV screen images

as of now, you are,
admit it, Nefertiti, and tonight I’m
eyesore from epileptic cello bop
& Department Store Decadents.
Leeds could pass for the city of the dead,
as we roll down streets made faceless
by the metal-fatigued flatness
of shop-shutters. Chain-whipped
by a confusion of voices,
& street-lamps that throw
pools of light at nothing

you’re now
the Mad Scientist’s beautiful daughter, &
I cut through the skeletons of buildings,
the victim of the night, and,
as of now,
we follow the phosphorescent
trails of snails through the
ogre’s of Miró’s childhood,
bare feet crunching
on broken glass



Published in:
‘GYPSY no.1’ (Germany – September 1984)
Featured online at:
‘GYPSY ART SHOW’ (24 July 2018)
https://www.facebook.com/groups/gypsyartshow/