| CUT |
| What a thrill - My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for a sort of a hinge Of skin, A flap like a hat, Dead white. Then that red plush. Little pilgram, The Indian's axed your scalp. Your turkeys wattle Carpet rolls Straight from the heart. I step on it, Clutching my bottle of pink fizz. A celebration, this is. Out of a gap A million soldiers run, Redcoats, every one. Whose side are they on? O my Homonuculus, I am ill. I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling. Saboteur, Kamikaze man - The stain on your gauze Ku Klux Klan Babushka Darkens and tarnishes and when The balled pulp of your heart Confronts its small mill of silence How you jump - Tramped veteran, Dirty girl, Thumb stump. |
 |
| BACK TO MAIN |