There's Not Much Difference Between Ink and Bile

I feel like Cocaine
headbutting tables
like a thrilled chicken.
Life is super behind these eyelids
a real circus.
Holy Land
in the tomb on my shoulders.

Call me Angel
a fountain of Love,
pissing diamond miracles
for dimes and nobodies.
There's no colour here,
no bandit ways to stain my glass.
My heart is pure
my teeth sharp.
In my goodly drunk paradise
heroes are loved
but the worm is King.

Let pass the wolf people
in their search for Hollywood,
with minds cheap
like caramel sunsets.
Vacant gargoyles in a spin!
Come to me through Dirt
and backstreet needles,
paint nothing on your lips.
Save judgement for the sober
and hell for hangovers.

We Mad, the real Mad
follow bull queens
to the altar of Skulls like poisoned dogs
running toward Oblivion.
Drugged, bullied, maimed.
Burning paper walls
to visit Triumph.
People on medicine
always need perversions,
a sister to disaster.
In God we trust,
bury us on Good days...

@Steven Francis Poetry 2008