Snake Spine (Soul In A Mirror)

Split suicide grin for seasons of terror.
The smiles are born of hurt and deaths
stony eyed philosophers and sharks
shrug their impassive shoulders
at the reaper bird.
Months fly with dragon tongues for wings
but days crawl through undergrowth
swollen with paranoia.
There is no mirror big enough
to capture my reflection,
big as Heaven
tarnished like hell.

Serpents around my spine
excite new addictions
within me.
Under this shroud I call skin
bones tingle like epileptic reptiles,
my penis coils around lust.

There are free deaths
awaiting the brave.
Choose a soul in a mirror
there is no ego like self,
a song of self
a gospel sung of rainbows.
Twist into a pose
break the snake,
turn the snake
throw it to the dangers.
Damnation is closed on sin days.

Feel the wound
made from greed,
spirits fade today.
Happy people never remember
sad ones never die.
Jesus,
kiss me like a hurricane.
And mould my heart
into a symbol without curse...

@Steven Francis Poems 2002

Re Wind

I'm not feeling myself
anymore,
scenes long gone
glow in my scars
and anxiety shreds my patience
should I fail to paint the picture
perfect.

I'm running away
this time,
running scared
of the hatchet season,
the obesity sessions.
Reason has ceased to exist.

I am fraying
blind and uncontrolled
like a posessed Picasso
as I close my eyes
to replay useless images
in this storm I call a mind.

I'm running away
this time,
heading for the exit
of the static prison
where locks are insecurities,
created by a dizzy trauma.

Haunted in a place
I no longer want to be,
hunted but never beaten
by a vandal madness.
I'm getting out
peeling off the layers of
neurotic stains.

I am not rewinding
this time,
not rewinding any time.
Sick of doubt baying for my blood
tired of this juvenile cancer,
sunlight must touch
these bone flowers.
It ends the cactus jive...

@Steven Francis Poems 2001

Curtain Fire

Bye bye never going back
to the fire where once I belonged,
where ghouls lived in silent movies
and blood was the new shade of wrong.

Draw the curtain on a static mind
before darkness arrives in season,
kicking heels, run like rhymes
kill the father and pray for the son.

There was a place where I'd go crazy
trying to rewind scenes in my mind,
but past is past and iron dead
nothing there to love or find.

Clown with tumours touring confusion
valium away the hell,
walk away from the haunted chorus
and crush the once safe shell.

Bye goodbye, this time it ends
no more zombie fat clogs these veins,
I have muted echoes in this head
and stitched up all the pain...

@Steven Francis Poems 2001

Galactica Pathetica

I tremble
down to my last cigarette,
my fingernails
grey at last.
Frail as ash
hurt as a bee sting,
I look for girls
on a radio phone in.

Squeeze me
until someone else knocks the door,
I need all the sex
in the world.
Bitter like lemons
angry as anvils,
cut off these limbs
cool me down.

A celebrity pose
od's on the wall,
put on a face
why don't you?
Be Lara Croft
from the tv screen,
I watch (you)
but i'm unseen.

Purify me
for one minute only,
fan the flame
I become tonight.
Lightning stalker
happy as caffiene,
death on heat
bloody gasoline...

@Steven Francis Poems 1996

Zombie Man (Hope Song for Silent Choirs)

Terrorised and bruised to
utter nothing,
lady divine
barer of souls,
riiped wide open
catching spiders,
fro the silver which
ran down her legs.

What was it?
That secret when stars
flex in the sky.
Cast a light
and throw the kerb away.
Crush the hand
without a mind.

He man filth eater with
storms in his pocket,
you are monster in disgust.
Bile balloons inflate perversion
sick kings should implode.
Raw dog eat bullets.

This hymn is out
for the forever quiet,
choirs with zipped teeth
and strength of Saturn.
Those bullied worse
than a cancer doll.
Live on,
peace will tame
the pulp creatures...

@Steven Francis Poems 1998

Are You Dead, Ted?

Are you grateful
in the grave?
Gentleman madman.
Did two thousand volts
keep you warm?
Or did you shudder
from shock
after the cold?
Victim of hate
schizoid pigeon.
Alone now with suited tendons
and cadaver skin.
Are you sunburnt from
the unforgiving flame?

@Steven Francis Poems 1996

Morgue Lounge

Lost and deaf
in Poisonville,
where startled humpbacked cats
flee from pregnant dogs.
The poor raped
the rich escaped,
one way street
dead end.

Shift between
Cremation Street
and Hooligan Avenue,
its ouija time again.
Beneath a graffiti moon
coffin streetlights
burn naked wallflowers
grinding against brickwork.
Nobody here reads romance.

Chains in the park
fool addicts
into believing only silver shines.
Strange habits trick the dying
snakes draw blood
from wilted bone.
Chaos reigns at the funhouse.

Along Gambling Alley
where honesty lost its step,
dashing vampires
cook pavement artists in tin ovens.
Smells of fat and salt
attract cannibal vagrants
with cider eyes
from their fingerless beds.
Smash the fish
swim like the drowned.

In shadows
of the dead
mourners go on safari,
collecting cobwebs,
chasing poltergeists into chapels.
Nothing is spared
in this lounge,
tiger butterflies bathe
in sin and heartbeat.

Black Hole City
where Christmas never comes
and vulgar canvases run.
Scorpions lay wrapped
in barbed wire
waiting for prayer.
Fall in love with Dracula
honeymoon in the morgue...

@Steven Francis Poems 1997