Aquarius Tavern, New Year's ‘86-‘87

It all comes through as fast and hard.
Skin is red and torn and painted.
The band behind crowds stands
still. Motionless engrossed
girls are dancers, beers from their arms,
at the edge of anyplace wherever
knees get out, shoulders; whatever,
handling, whipt, dropt to dance there.

At front they bounce against the stage.
Black swung hair gets wrapped in lighting.
No beat to grab. Heat as hearts quicken.
Salvaging animal rhythm, bodies are water.
Singer sings from the throat and lips. No
words into the microphone but
bodies of water, fishes in light.

Spiders from her ears bounce
as her head bops. she loses and keeps beat.
Black gypsy skirts fall from dirty jean jackets.
Color patches sewn. Soft wanton fringed
shoulder drops from hinge. The clockwork
breaks. Her power is elbow
reflex at will. On stage,
slowly dying young he is yellow,
bash toothed, drooling. They call him back.

She falls from her rubber hip
Here is living. Sweat from temples
slides down necks. The air here, grinning.
The rage, hilarious. Zombie eyes around her,
the sweet dead spy.

3 fairy tale etchings

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They crumble time here, beating their
birth against tables torn from the foundation
loud. In the secret basement
sparks rebound against an ashtray.
This impact, the answer to the
carpet jungle, ornament of torn
bodies and hair. She leans,
an earringed cheetah. She
swings from her drink like a fine limbed
baboon. Hair in drinks carries wet music

Her backbone is an inbent wand.
You can feel his arm ascend.
All are willingly hypnotised under
the spell of limbs. The hotel calls him.
Anger enveloping him viscous, intentional.

Dressed in wood, in the mid city where
painted words fall from t shirts,
where children bash body to bone
the sweetest sound is chaotic.
The sweetest look is gazed
into his abyss, into his wide eyed
dream town.