Rush

You and I and everyone we know

speeding deathlessly down below.

In the universe's underside.

In the great primordial cave.

In silence.

Introduce a little noise.

Garbled calls and grinding metal.

Bodies pressed close, drenched in sweat.

Strained smiles, poison stares.

Subterranean suspended animation.

The city holds its breath.

Neurons fire in defiance of their end.

Get the fucking train moving already.

The vagabond prince of dread

The vagabond prince of dread, neither living nor quite dead.  
Wailing piano strings.

The vagabond prince of dread, born from thinking's tangled thread.
Frantic drum roll.

The vagabond prince of dread, demanding to be fed.
Saxophone cacophony.

The vagabond prince of dread wraps long fingers 'round my head.

Clattering cymbals.

The vagabond prince of dread drags me back inside my bed.

Accordion scream.

The vagabond prince of dread leans in closely, starts to shred.
Jumbled vocals.

The vagabond prince of dread paints my walls a deep dark red.
Relentless reverberation.

The vagabond prince of dread, in a spasm he has fled.
Ecstatic ululation.

The vagabond prince of dread, hear his laugh within you spread.  

Shuffling Shirley

I’m only happy eating brains.

I’m not so happy when defenestrated.

And even less when I’m decapitated.

I’m only happy eating brains.

You know I love it when I smell so bad.

My poisoned spit will soon infect your blood.

I’m only happy eating brains.

Pour your viscera down.

Pour your viscera down on me.

Pour your viscera down.

Pour your viscera down on me.

I’m only happy eating brains.                      

Puppet show

A flickering jester scampers on stage, fading away before the music starts; a spectral symphony of tiny footsteps and rustling, worn-out dresses, followed by pantomime clapping and distant cheers. The flesh puppet’s writhing dance is the main attraction.  Shrill voices fill the air. Dance, they scream. Slave to its strings – invisible intruders inexorably enforcing their will – the puppet snaps awake. It moves in jerks and jolts and clumsy pirouettes. Falling to its knees, it claws at the space where its eyes should be. The audience’s reaction is deafening; a delirious laugh track. The faceless plaything curls up into a foetal position as smoky tendrils wisp across the ceiling and tongues of flame lick the walls casting a violent shadow-play on the falling curtains and the crumbling pillars and the roof caving in on the crowd that roars with laughter to the end.

  

Tomorrow, a new wave of curious patrons will face the restored stage, lured by promises of transgression and eager to experience all the notorious play has to offer. They will not be disappointed.  

Kelly

Her name is Kelly.

She’s brighter than the sun.

She’s my radioactive jellyfish; we’re having so much fun.

If you see Kelly,

Then you had better run.

She’ll zap you with her sparkly thoughts and make sure you’re undone.

Once

I’m swimming, breathless, in your river

It gets me where I want to go

I’m dancing, reckless, struck with fever

I’m feeling more than I can show.

The cities echo with your laughter

They’re filled with glimpses of your grace

Our shadows know just what we’re after

They’re locked in secret, warm embrace.

Cyborg Queen

Her hair’s a mass of tangled wire

Her eyes a flash of bright green fire

She sits atop a crumbling spire
The humming crowds all fear her ire.

 

Her crackling voice is rising higher

In static sighs of cold desire

Her neon lies are hollow, dire

Since all that’s left will soon expire.