Collage
in a rolled medium
white
walls, red lights, a horse being encouraged with tidbits, blue lights,
tarpaulin, a book of poems, an epistle of St Paul, degradation of the gene
pool, black box, plastic, metal
helping
hand severed at the wrist
“we
do it better” from a neon sign
a
small being which casts no shadow
an
alley between two main roads
the
end of the barrier wall but the wind blows you back so you still can't cross
the
landscaped gardens are grass covering mud
an
eye piped out of a door of light
war
and play and sex combine
lovers
hitting each other in anger
a
lift shaft tipped sideways
blocks
are burning between empty spaces
a
killer whale in the top right hand corner of the screen
fire!
smile!
a parachute drop goes upside down
fire!
smile as you talk to me
why
is it your knickers are always further below mine on the floor?
nothing
will happen till we have maximised our income for the evening so let them all
come in
a
screw hole in a perfect wall through which a perfect burglar might be expected
to climb
the
first floor hangs over the ground floor, Turkish style
stubble
burning in a field
how
very English, he says, calls of rage and of pain, smell of flesh, how superbly
understated
the
newspapers are effectively ours says Xanadu, cartoon remake of Citizen Kane,
the one with the chipmunk chorus
slowly
the musicians assemble the stage from a variety of images: speakers, mike
stands, instruments, audience noise, overpriced beer and cigarette smoke. Vagg,
with the local press, stands at the back looking for people to libel playing
with his cock through his greasy trousers' pocket; looks for P.C. Ross
a
pompous moustached man is talking about Chaucer, calling everybody old boy,
watching a slim woman with big tits
Oh
the Hammond organ's wonderful she says and tells of how her ex-husband
resembled Mick Jagger, before he got bloated, she says
a
rickety shack, a set from Sanders of the River, surrounded by mud and reeds;
and tranquil viscous water the colour of shit and piss mixed in front of the
shack at his civil service desk, Mick Jagger is signing a paper and shaking the
hand of a black fellow in feathers and bones. And that Chief, or should I say
now, Mr President, is the final process in establishing your new tax system
modelled on the very best British practice; you are now independent; he turns
from the obeisant president clutching the piece of paper and conducts a school
choir through a set of songs by Byrd before delivering a rendition of Jumping
Jack Flash which shows us clearly that he has lost none of his fire; the
audience gets excited; its members look identical; gosh, she whispers to
herself, the other girls will really envy you
a
broken rod of lightning in a dim building; a little boy playing with a model of
a Vulcan bomber in the darkness
gathered
curtains, red and grey, are lowered along the last stretch of the Berlin Wall
the
Head of Marketing welcomes angry shoppers to his latest enterprise and, low
down, a star or planet begins to shine. That'll be four pounds and seventy
three pence, Sir
A
Professor of Ergonomics says and I am equally disposed to break your head
Bob
Dylan sings Watching the river flow
a
stick on peel off plastic sign points to the crematorium
it
is nearly time for tea
the
end of a stocking hangs out over her toes; god, she says, my belly's fat; good,
he says, I like you fat
Oh
Maggie I wish I'd never seen your face
so
hard did she hit the insect with her shoe that it broke into collapsing pieces
like a crashed helicopter
a
single soap bubble, hazy blue and less than a centimetre across wanders over
the bracken; it is nearly sunset
the
builders are preparing to sweep up
she
is spraying her pot plants with an atomiser
a
bottle of water on a grand piano
a
glass ash tray on an empty cinema seat
a
last call for papers
he
lived in London when he first graduated
two
trumpets together play the bass line to the pianist
a
tin whistle and a lot of people clapping
an
extension cable, black, plugged into a socket
a
black cat tearing up a piece of anaglypta wallpaper
two
girls running along a marshy track, one saying it's horrible wet and cold, why
can't we go by car
white
walls, red lights, a horse being encouraged with tidbits, blue lights,
tarpaulin, a book of poems, an epistle of St Paul
