Saturday, 16 February 2013

Barcelona Reprise

we get back to the den big ben as words tick tock on the clock but time stops on a triple decker sofa air made of the dim chaos of a lava lamp light show! lumps of hot molten bump and grind trading poles role play what did i just say? how long will we know each other you sound just like mrs merton read huxley uplit on the shelf on the stereo tv on the radio on the table green tea and green on the mezzanine is you and me.

Barcelona

usually these things start with a kiss
this one didn't
it started like this
you asked if i was ticklish
i said no
you said nothing
you just laughed and came at me like a whirling dervish

we wacky race round gothic streets
on a white whippet and a red ferarri respectively
cheered on by snarling gargoyles
employed as model citizens
tipped hats to the denizens of Pla├ža Trippy
pissed up and stinking of piss
slumped sinking uno! dos! tres! cerzevas!
weave through scattered tea leaves
those who cheekily relieve non believers of their idols
freewheel with a mutual taxis
which keeps us warm from the fresh new September chill that lives in Catalunya
square spiral staircase leads us to the peak of city living
bickering lovebirds no longer in love
twittering cocaine stained kickbacks
in the fuck-me-is-that-the-time? candid buzzkill white light of the morning
rambla along esplanades
lined with exotic trees bearing strange fruit
bruised by the double threat of lust and lucre
by day these dames be busting jokes
night descends and they busting heads
and where's the feds
how much claret's got to be bled?
instead la guardia urbana compete with us and the hobos and the merry marochinos with hippopotamus teeth
for a seat at Eulalia's feet
the finest spot in the city to cut smoke and key
i play paparazzi
the cops play coquette
i regret dropping the issue but i drop the issue
in pursuit of the coarse roll of wheel on concrete
percussive thwack screech of errant skateboard
audience hands as high hats when it all goes right
yamming red apples on a monday night
dropping synapses to soggy beats
a syncopated englishman wears his elastic face with a humour that lingered
so we scarpered to Venezuela for the hell of the sleaze
so serendipitous i couldn't believe
we would ever see a man with his own face tattooed on his chest
bared to the procession of excommunicated trustafarians
lost mongrels no leads looking for high jinks
under a glass pane that pablo dipped in silver and threw into the sky
retrospective photography of when the sun was getting high
we sink salubrious vegan elixirs to cleanse us of this city where we stealthily be
prolixious prolixious prolixity means
a little less conversation a little more action please