Out on a whim.


Do or die –

live fast , party hard –

be an honorific rebel.

Spank me, 

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: over trained!

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 a benefits  calculated tested means.

Decrease or increase the stakes of getting a hit .

Marked.

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 – Rocky road ahead but it leads to  confectionary .

Extra! 

Extra!

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.

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13 thoughts on “Out on a whim.

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