nous baisons les flâneuses

hand in hand they walk the city in a darkening noon scribbling occult signs on street corners bleeding meaning from the twisted pipework nous les cherchons toujours kissing under a sodium dawn making violent love behind broken wires running naked through the underpasses nous les suivons toujours hand in hand they slice and shuffle maps cartographers of possibility interpreters of stained signals builders of the already built sibyls of some civic future nous aimons les meufs urbaines nous baisons les flâneuses

Russell J Turner – October 2011

Heading South for a Sinner

Heading south for a sinner,
With the jugglers and the smugglers,
The diamond rhymers and the hard two-timers.
Fleeing down the barrel of a desert line,
Fleeing from the fear and the broken years;
Scattering our twenties across sand and scrub,
Hash, cheap booze and jungle.

There were nights bigger than the skies:
Woodfire scavenged,
Planned, rammed and scammed.
Stars as bright as fucking needles
Sliding through the nets,
Hung like cheap scenery,
And skewering our sight.

And the mornings.
Those 5 o’clock hangover headfuck mornings:
Too bright light and no horizon, no perspective,
Just some diesel-driven imperative:
Heading south for a sinner.
For another cheap dinner
Or a low rent winner.

Then the sea rose up to greet us,
To wash our feet and drown our debts.
Then the sea rose up to eat us,
To drag us down with few regrets,
With sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll:
Heading south for a sinner.
Heading south to save some soul.

Russell J Turner – October 2011