stiletto crow - poetry show

Pocket Poisoner

Hairy Spoorlaan, you are wide and wet,
a sticky tongue rolled out
to swallow devils
and angels alike.

When words and moods come bawling
at me like toys hurled in tantrums,
you, tantric partner, whisper from a tunnel
“The enjoyment of life covers many things.”

You, Spoorlaan, smoking ribbon,
demon, the scales on your tail flashing
in traffic lightning,
you won’t eat or drink more than you really need to,
maybe a little dracula coffee,
a bijou bun or perhaps a portion of quirks.

Rail Boulevard, the city hangs on your howls,
and welcomes your comic zombies, who,
when the pigeons have scattered
like glass shards into dusty corners,
julienne themselves on bike frames.

Spoorlaan spell, drag the prey to beds,
make tea in concrete pots
and recite your curses,
while the actors stitch their parts together
with sausage casings,
because you see, aaaarrrrrrrggggghhhh,
monster pockets cause special effects.