Egg Punk

Don’t fuck with me
I’ve got nineteen teeth
(and they’re not even mine)

I’ve got slapstick
feeling and ripped
back-

I’ve got a rhythm
of sickness
and two
dead cats.

War I love you:
I’ve learnt to accept
the bomb,
and now it’s kind of fun.

I’ve got different
ideas for what society
should be

and I promise you-
none of them involve
communism,

mostly just
sitting in bed
and drinking
natural wines-

what I’ve done
to myself,
with the organics
and the greenery

I even quit smoking
(it’s nuts how bored you get of it,
though I think I may be
the boring one now)

Lenin I love you,
it’s a shame what they’ve done
to your country

I have a statue of you
in my room-
it’s a bit of a nightmare
because it takes up all the space
and I have to sleep
on the floor

I don’t mind,
if I get to stay by you, Lenin,
and stroke your feet
in pure, filthy
ecstasy;

I’ve got knives on both sides,
I’ve got tears (in both eyes),
I’ve got blood on my hands
I’ve got no rhyme in this line (sorry)

What would I do without the bolsheviks!
I met them in the square
quite a few many odd years ago
where I got shot
with the bullet
that has never dislodged itself-
I met you in a TV ad,
they auctioned you off,
American programme style,
twenty one twenty two twenty
three,
I paid a fifty three thousand
for you
(which could’ve gone to my mortgage)

I want you in prison with me;
we can hold hands in
lesbian repartee-

I will have been arrested
for my criminally poor
chess playing

–and losing all my money
in the casino

(an extra year
for playing Radiohead
on the jukebox)

I am thirst personified,
I’ve got a giant bottle
of diet coke,
and I drink it like it’s water.

Take heed, young gentlemen!
I flop like a
3D water model
and fuck
like a woman
who likes women.

Where was I in the 80’s?
Undead, at a punk gig,
I had released myself
all over the place,
and no that doesn’t mean
anything at all.

Where was I last week?
If I knew I’d tell you,
I can scarcely remember
myself,
and that’s because it’s not important.

Nothing’s important!
It all means absolutely
fuck all

It’s about as satisfactory
as a warm foamy pint

what you make of yourself-

and I do apologise,
I really do,
that you’re looking for meaning
where there is none;

I’ve spent twenty minutes writing this
and it literally means