Drinks for Mere Rodent

Being here being not
a man being not here
for chops and stabs at
the sequined meta-proxy
goddess, cut her out.

Being here, being not
the recently deceased
scratchings of Taverner
having been
a decomposing fungus.
Ripe to be arrested.

I sometimes steal Pelicans
from shops and choose
to love from other men,
says Mr. Toypunk Darcy coughing
          nits into the scanner. Hair
is a turn off and so is the corporeal
          tone of your flesh credits
fly like spanners into the heads
of an EDL toy boy stamping guts,
marshal the closed child soldier. 

Love cascades from the face of a child
and the child at the face facing that, the rain
peels for long nights and hopes
to collapse each enterprise, dope.

We are magic now, the conditions are right.
Decrypting the engines of binary sight.