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Private Notes
When dancing, lost in techno trance, arms flailing gawky bez; then find you snagged on frowns, and slowly dawns: you're jazzing to the beeptone of a life-support machine that marks the steady fading of your day-old baby daughter. And when midnight sirens, lead to blue flash road mash, stretchers covered heads, and slippy red macadam, and find you creeping neath the blankets, to snuggle close a mangled bird, hoping soon you too will be freezer drawered. Then welcome, ooh blue chemotherapy wig, welcome in Jam
When roped to concrete, and noose your bauble, for car powered head divorce, then find your scheme all twunted by a honda. And when all your taxi journeys come to this. Then welcome, ooh astonishing sod ape, welcome in Jam
When walk to work, all swig faced, six months since you clowned it up, and old friends cross the street, and no one pays you any heed, except the dung-breathed men, who often now will pick you up, and van you to the fens, to wrestle pigs. Then welcome, ooh PIG, welcome in Jam
When shakey head, at local paper story of a crime git, then look again and see that he is you, this long lens shifty bugger in the park. When every phone call destroys your life, but the phone aint got a bloody plug. And when waking, wonder where you are, only to find the rest of you is asking where you've gone. Then welcome, ooh arrested for copying dogs, welcome in Jam
When surface from a four day crash, bluebottle gobbed, and hear the children call you maggot mouth, and rise to find they've roped your guts, so fall you jessop. They crown you king cantaloupe, and gob you up a synapse bomb, so now your hooting leathersnake, not clocking you've been prammed, to serenade the door of your ex wife, clocking glares of ice. Then find you've wandered back to school, and frit the squabs, and now here comes a teacher with a copper. Then welcome, ooh fuss fuss fuss, welcome in Jam.
When dreadful duty, leads you to the place, where you have stored it. And when walking dog, call the children, he won't bite, then see them run, deranged by what you're dragging round, and have been since you found him eyeless stiff and putrid, after seven months of "oh I wonder where hes got to". Then welcome, ooh born dead through your own arse, welcome in Jam.
