The Language of Excess

Anticipation crowds the Cactus Cake
Patisserie tonight, a press of words
And bodies caught in smoke and mirrored grins.
We condensate the place in magazines
In preparation for 'The Ritual': teeth
And haircuts shower SmashHits style upon
The patrons drinking Schinopies (no ice).
Perusing menus proves confusing, red
Crayola hieroglyphs adorning old
And dated Beanos, sad neglected Shoots.
I cannot glean its meaning and besiege
The room at large to help me comprehend
The language of excess. 'You can't expect
A linear message here' the recently
Materialized and insubstantial form
Of my companion posits, finger click
As always in position. 'Automate
Your reading habits. Use your magic eye.'
I shrug and down Schinopies until Jack,
(or Mr. Wilson) enters through a wall
And forms a circle on the floor. It's time
To dance the Ghost Dance, catalyst consumed
And dancing in our veins. 'Remember!' Jack
Implores from under wide-brimmed hat, 'You need
To lose not everything, but almost all.'
Colossal speed, frenetic forms permeate
Our limbs, convert our minds and we become
Conductors of potential, glazed in bliss.

Hummingbirds Reclining

Britain's industrial base is in terminal decline
Unemployment is on the rise the winter of
Discontent is still a recent memory and the
Nuclear Nevada kaleidoscopic heart canyon

4" tornados rule the apocalyptic topology
Brilliant colours wild shapes exotic textures
Modern scone cactus blossom & atoms split
Give off energy in the temporary greenhouse

A beautiful winter shoe heel is approx. God
Some succulent body image surgery fuck
Held our camera & cactus cowboys fall
Spectacularly in rich acidic colour death

E. Jacobs measures nuclear risk reduction
With a Russian general in Moscow and
Hummingbirds reclining on rainforest trees
Begin to push up with the rains of winter

Compartmentalized Squares of Lunchmeat 

Factory refectories sterilize souls for England
Close air manifests in electrical humming and
Unnatural heat crowds the head like a fleece on
An unseasonably warm day

Indomitable itch
Close inspection of menus conduits greater comprehension
Of windows today:

Raw chicken liver with a seasoning of damp cardboard or
Rats and rats and rats and rats and rats (raw) or
Sand and broken-glass sandwich (vegetarian option) or
Fish-fingers and chips

Really it is no choice at all I'm going
To get full up whatever I choose and it is all
Tasteless and vulgar they know there's nowhere else
For us to go
Hello Rich
Rich does not look good red sore eyes
Watering slightly in the wince clown make-up
Sweat streaked beneath the astronaut helmet
Up till three last night playing Scalectrix
Rich does his homework
Later on there's a fistfight with the Subbuteo boys
From Unit 43
Rich looks moribund at the prospect

Smoking cigarettes in zones where smoking
Is prohibited merits punishment in the back
Slapping of old folks who just can't change

My hands are covered in oil grease and
Blood probably from all the glass

         Jake O'Leary 2010