ALL RESPONSES |
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Beer, amber and pale
Thick, heady and luscious.
Bottle or on tap
that is the best stuff.
Why drink wine,
fruit dying on the vine,
when there’s beer
fabulous beer
glorious beer.
Get me a beer.
Lager, Weiss and ale
Bitter, nut brown and hand pulled
Bread by the pint
this is the best stuff.
Baseball, Thai food & the sun
all love its company
Yes Beer
golden as the moon
now in your hands
drink it and glow.
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Ready to ride on dual super turbines, warmed-up
tuned-up with a full tank of high-octane jet fuel
afterburners wide open and no parachute, no helmet
no seat belt, no map, a wad of hundred dollar bills
ready to spend on ice cold foamy beer until it runs out
twenty-four hours seven days after they turned on
the lights, opened the taps, heated up the deep fat fryer
and poured the first shots of cinnamon schnapps, made
change for cigarettes, parking meters, and condoms
random drinkers and night shift temp workers, laid
off carpenters, drunken students, hardware salesmen
from the hotel with their laptops, surfing porn with
Canadian whiskey, cars running outside under the
dancing neon beer sign, waiting their turn on the
tarmac, ready for takeoff, ready, ready, ready for
liftoff, five, four, three, two, one, damn it
I'm ready |
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Sitting on arse, watching telly, what
more could mummy want, than for daddy
to come home from the Bleeding Wombat?
Fish and chips from the wagon go well
with the tea we buy from the department
store, but the gin somehow seems to
depart from the ideal of soldiery, India
and her Holy Men, beggars sitting on
their arses, laughing at the eleventh Lord.
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What more could mummy want, but the gin
somehow seems to
depart like that idea of the trip to
India and her Holy Men
the bottle empty of its genie.
She remembers how the priest
told her friend that he was warned
eventual someone would confess
they had sexual feeling for Jesus
for the virgin Mary. Sure enough.
She gave up drinking those
years ago. Without the vodka
they reminded her of Saturday
afternoons, eating Tomato soup
cold from the can.
Can you really go back in?
Squeeze your body into the bottle?
Turn to smoke? That she’d like to see.
That would make her holy.
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Pulling crabs from
mud-bound oyster shoals
from a boat, better than barefoot
Slimey
silky meats of mullosks, slurped down
throats
of aphrodasiac tourists, deep fried
sensual
crustacean backbone relative
sexual dream, like
a viking's succubus
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In a hostel in East Berlin
we watched the woman dance barefoot
& alone, to music only she could hear.
She untied the scarf from her hair
caressed it like a lover.
Then the boys, all Russian
beckoned us to their room.
I went because this city
was walled and there was
no place else to go.
And their faces were kind.
They wanted us to sit down
so my girlfriends and I found
spots on the floor. Not the bunk beds
with the feather quilts, so easy
to get lost in. Then the smiling
One with the hands of a pianist
took the bottle and poured.
Vodka, he said. It is good. No?
Watch. And his friend with the
black eyes lit a match
and turned the cup to flames.
They were magic, these boys
appearing for one night only
then like the vodka, were gone.
I traded the one with the lovely
hands my watch, for his.
Wore it loose on my wrist
long after it stopped keeping time.
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You're freaked out by me, aren'tcha?
I can see it in your eyes.
Grrrr... watch out!
Satan's gonna get you, man.
Oooooh, spooky, huh?
Huh? Ain't I scary?
Bet you've never seen Beelzebub
in the flesh before, have ya?
Boo!
Haha, you jumped!
Yeah, you did, man.
I saw you.
You totally jumped when I did that!
Hey!
Wanna go inside?
I'm thirsty.
Come inside with me.
Legion will buy you a beer.
Come on, man.
Don't be scared.
I won't do that creepy thing again.
I know you really liked it, though.
You people always love a good scare.
Makes you feel alive, dunnit?
Hahaha, c'mon.
Buy me a beer.
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