Bleached Backdoor Blonde Pornography

Page three darlings
stalk the shelves
like shadows on gravy,
from bottles filled with televisions.
Treble chinned currencies
and rogue doves,
dragons in love sick fumes.

There go the crew
as heavy as a belly full of binges
and flushed like ashtrays,
feeding on doses of plastic passion.
Welcome junior!
Hold on tight to your
greased up lightning
shot down china dynamite
jailbird sleaze.
Gin'd up fetishes
are game as football
here in the coffee pits.

Listen to the song of fantailed dancers
lined like cocaine
on a hobo's gritty tongue,
as they move along rows
of whiskey sucking moustaches
and calloused fingertips.
Is this glamour?
Are there real jewels?
Can dogs grow flowers
on this ghost train?

Put doubters to sleep
there are no party tricks
at this Idle Fayre
because worms don't see the stars
from holes in frosted hearts.
Sixth senses cannot see
from coshed eyes,
peep show pirates
bin bagged.
Goggle-eyed and rounded up
slapped down monsoons,
pretty pearlies horizon bound...

@Steven Francis poems 1999