Goad

You crawl, bleating, to the parlour I've forbidden
And domesticity, that which you abhor,
Might now become your most bestest friend
And the discotheque lights, in patterns random,
Form for you on the wall in shadows a mother nursing
Oh you never thought you'd be with child
But you're never thinking beyond the next flash of lightning
And lights and rhythm bring you here,
Practically begging.

Glimmering. You perfected the beats inside
And wild chrome, spiderlike. Indigent. The whorl
And the wider ways out. You could bring your child here,
couldn't you? Telluride, a point on the compass
You've got your tickets booked and
A babysitter and you know where you'll get your chemicals
There, 'cos you will, still deal with chemicals.

Certainly you're capable of two things
At least, at the same time. For one, or the other
Or the other and falling on the floor
Skirt above your knickers, veins fifty percent
Blood and
or the other making good of some future.

Goad, this is a goad for sure.
You – the Sticklebrick purse thief and
Woman, doubtless, admiring of complement,
Denier of affection – lured here
With grin, reflected grimace

Stroked for sure – who
Can resist afterall – though your mind's mind
Tells that of your own accord abased
And scuffed knees

Moviegoer shoes and it's the babe bleating,
Dragged you here not,
Place leading you astray, no

Telepathic kisses nor words, reason, timecapsule
Reminiscences

Not your heart