Fractured Adonis

By | 1 July 1998

we are the dead hours of rain days in
the desert & like it alright compared to
breaking our bones over antarctic zones
shouldnt i be driven home tonight
whole as ever i wore glasses in the gardens
of pleasure or lifes little loves the ironies
so few accept im under a hot conception
waiting for the dawn dryeyed in the rain
theres trouble a police cordon & outofit
men collapse in the sand dont lose your cap
dont lose whats under it under a wire crown
this is where the queen came to sit & strip
someone else with a great chest modelled
for a bit of god the cigarettes are smoked

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