dead drunk dublin and other imaginal spaces
this is the way home poetry - written and spoken stories and creative writings alternative writings, prose, essays, reportage manifestos, insights, alternative views music mp3 original music eyes to see with movies, flash and animations links - click here to read reviews of our favourite websites click to subscribe to our occasional ezine all about dead drunk dublin info on how to contribute to dead drunk dublin




6 1

  m.  a.   l i t t l e r  


ringsend gasworks :
smd

 





Fishermen are drilling holes into the bows of their vessels
The women resemble demented Chinese porcelain dolls
Lawyers and accountants are smashing one another's heads in with bronze bed posts.

Preacher men are staggering down the main drag with Arabian daggers in their hands and are dowsing the penny arcade with Kerosene.

On market square the flag's on fire and folks are tied to lampposts
The windows on Main Street, they're all boarded up and no one wants to stay.

I say leave them prophets 'n angels 'n saints at home
I'm dwelling amongst mysterious men and by the looks of it there'll be business to attend.

What's that chatter 'bout crowns of thorns
All I see is bowler hats.

The doctor with his pencil moustache stands in my door frame
He looks lost 'n worried
"I don't know what 'tis but it ain't good…", he says.

I sit myself down by the window, sip my opium tea and grin while some gypsy choir outside sings us all straight into hell.

[]

 

from the collection "Babylon Wasteland" by m. a. littler
© 2004 m. a. littler - all rights reserved

 

 

       
   


to contact the editor, email editor@deaddrunkdublin.com or use our contact form
all contents copyright © 2007, all rights reserved - redmoonmedia, publishers - authors rights are protected

site design by redmoonmedia