Your limes
are so zingy
that they
make
my pustules
explode
YES
Your limes
are so zingy
that they
make
my pustules
explode
they make
my pimples erupt
then this
disrupts
the traffic
because of
the pus
that is
blocking up
all of the
roads
the council
gotta hire
lorries
gotta hire
pus clearing trucks
gotta hire
men
with brooms an shovels
to shovel
up
all of the
pus
YES
Your limes
are so zingy
That when they
cleanse my skin
they are
the cause of
pus
shovelling operations
YES
Your limes
are so zingy
that they
make
my pustules
explode
INTERIOR
PUMP VIEW
They took
me and laid
My fat,
sweaty hairy European body
Out on a
cold table,
Because
those educated ones,
The trained
professionals
Were going
to cut me
Whilst I
was still alive,
To see the
heart inside me.
But,
luckily for me,
I was not a
would-be conquistador
Carried to
the peak of a pyramid
By Aztecs
in Teotehuacan,
But another
obese patient
Laid out
for surgery
In a Harrow hospital
And the
cutting edge professionals
Did not
remove my pump from me
But they
fed a minicam into it
On the end
of a thin wire hose
Pushed up
along my vein
Via a hole in
my leg
And this
showed me images of my heart
Pulsating
on video screens.
And unlike
the eviscerated
would-be
conquistador
My heart
was not the last thing
That I ever
saw
So I can
tell you now
That me
heart looked like
One of the
light shows
That I saw
in my misspent youth
Projected
on to night club walls
I am a pysychedelic
man.
Whose pump
still pumps
In spite of
years of abuse
Still going
Like a repeatedly
crashed car
That
shouldn’t really
Still be on
the road
But some
things in my heart
Remain
unseen
Even by the
surgeons’ camera
My hate and
my deception
My
treachery and my depression,
but neither
did the minature camera
objectively
record
my love
or my compassion
or my compassion
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