While listening to Tom Waits

by August 30, 2014 0 comments

I search for the voice stuck under the gas rings
While the pot bubbles and spews forth lady
Macbeth in various colours all screaming distress

Mice with very nice top hats parade across the floor,
Whistling tunes out of a grinding monkey organ.
Horace their dead mouse friend with trapped neck,
Elongated pink tongue frozen beneath his eyes
Popped in a hell of cry, this is the body they are finding

Where is hazel or magella, the girls who stripped naked
Beneath me fogs of smoke and cheap wine? Where
The firm breasts of yesterday, their pussy licking
Moanings a humping beat under my cranium sky?

Here comes josephine, who will be tickled by feathers.
She got ’em all stuffed, some basting comes slow,
Midnight hours tearing up like funeral comings,
Train tunnelling out of her mouth, oooh! oooh!

Must be a devil in the ground I keep hearing,
Hark his feet dancing on that other side of earth,
His head pointing into the molten red hot centre,
Hear him dancing on the other side to my feet.

Down in the hole, Down in the hole
Damn him, he’s down in the hole
And he’s calling, calling for me
To join him, and burn all me moanings.

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