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The Sunday Times



Rich kids weeping in the college-slums of Venezuala

Chambermaids riding into bedrooms on the dappled bones of fame

Oil-workers with bristly fridges succumbing to desire

& the streets filled with lawn-mowers

Keeps me a green lake all night

Driving 5,000 miles into the shoes of fashion

3 wishes, on another man's rug

Too many Swedish holidays

The new fins are over, and the odd end of the red plunger

Will be a decade of coal-minerly ear-rings

Holy Grail weather-shift

Sigmund Feud removing the dead skin from his heels

Killing the teddy-bear, in a pyramid of quarters

A West Coast 101 in hunger

Sports commentators speak poetry

But the pictures spoil everything

Now Frank and Alice think TV's a camera

And they're putting their fathers' footsteps on trial

So it's another marathon inside a tortilla

Too many people talking management

2 drown in a metal barn called Asia

And then snow is the country of our rented tents

Everyone's stopped wearing wrist-watches

Well, why do you need them, if you're just doing what you're told?

Bloodhounds chasing my mother thru the Louisiana swamplands

Alice's head stuck out of the ferns like a Barbie-doll

A Barbarella-hot necklace of moony starlight

And the big crop college-boy, Atlantis frog

Man killed by Xmas music in factory-garters

Magnificent things go down

Beauty dozing in a Chinese caravan of school-mistress cybernetics

A perfect wig for Roy's authority

Frank says you have to bring your own duct-tape to the all-you-can-meet buffet

If the juke-box is telling the truth

It must be that part of the body

Li'l boy Jesus, with his damp brother perched on his back

Catching a bus out of town, with the other survivors

They all wear dark glasses

My best friend killed itself to get out of the war

I was talking to a man last night in the Cold Heart Tavern

He said, "My job is to make as much money as possible"

So many argonauts, and so many fleecings

I requested he take a hike up his own mountain

And then he told me all children are Bolsheviks

Alice said to Big F, I still like you, but your collage is coming un-glued

Frank said, I'm not coming, magnificent things go down

It was at that point of our NPR-discourse

into the role of punctured eyeballs in contemporary society

that Fred slowly crawled in and whispered "I'm roped to invisibility"

He was wearing high-heels

And they looked like the twin towers on your country's birthday

I could see the drunken fire-fighters clinging to the hairs on my testicles

He was balancing a silvery tray of cream-cakes on my head

One of Fred's famous performance farts quickly cleared the room of virgins

Luckily lucky Egyptians don't play soccer for real

So Frank kisses Fred's hand

A bored game called Frankenstein beneath his hat

& 16 women called Crystal In The Cornfield

Blowing out their candles on a blonde wig

He's buying a condo. Without interest

He's finally stepping up to the plate

Blood creeps into Fred's spooky garage, and a 12-year old in the hinterlands gets pregnant

Aurora calls me from work and says, Did you know

That 8 out of 10 of your friends are wearing the wrong heads?

I said, Yes, but 50,000 rioters can cause a lot of damage

So Fred stands up and says, So this is R. Crumb

For meek and for bong

But we still can't make rent between us

And you're busy clicking channels in the great missile debate

I said, then sell me a pick-me-up of horny pirates

And then give me some boots that are a bakery of flowers

We'll build a house which is not a house

Meanwhile, the boss can give himself an award

For organising a referendum on the use of fingertips

And we'll keep dragging our broken bottles through the clouds





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