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Tuesday 2 September 2008

Pornograph...

I lie before you
Wanton,
More compromised than promised;
A good deal to be brokered,
A shabby pornograph.

Sack artist -
Or hopeful artisan?;
Whatever you have made me,
Survey your work
In warmth
And safety. Take it easy
In your pew.

Or sit in judgement,
Rapt behind the viewer
Tutting at the negatives;
A writhing connoisseur.

Someone else
Will get the money;
All we can do is lie,
Writhe, importune and
Sigh - trapped in
This horny ether;
Still,
Devoid of fragrance -
Frozen hustles,
Tricks
And turns.

Barbed and trussed
Your trusty captives wait,
Patient and eternal
In limpid, latticed
Martyrdom.

Flat, unmoved,
Posed, unmoving,
We take it on the chin
Then lie silent in sorority,
Our fraternity of victims;
Hooker, hoofer, gigolo,
Reader's wife or child.
All abused,
Now gaze back at you,

So, go on -

Feel the twitch between your legs.
Feel the shame you'd have us bear.
Feel their anger,
Feel their damage
In my sad, defiant stare.




L.U.V. on y'all,

Once was Bob

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Monday 1 September 2008

Autograph...

Well, he had to find out sooner or later...



4 am last night and there's a loud and frantic knocking at the door. I stumble down in my mules and kimono to find none other than Bryan Ferry on my doorstep, trembling with rage. "Was tha ken thas doon?" He yells, before I can say "we are flying down to Rio". Grabbing me by the silk lapels and pushing me up against the vestibule wall - no doubt laddering a thermal knitwear hold-up on the dado rail in the process, I shouldn't wonder, he rants on, "Tha's gan tealeafed wor contract, modeling wor Autograph catalogue from reet under wor nose - wha's tha playin' at, man??" He grizzles, clearly worse for wear and tear after a crate of two too many Newcastle Browns. "That Catalogue were wor pride and joy, like. What's wor game, usurpin' us like tha - stealin' wor scran from wor mouths of poor me wee bairns. Why man, how d'yer expect us to feed Otis, Liberace, Thelonius, Ezekiel, Dexedrine, Gandolf, Rigor Mortis, Daphne and wor Jackie, though but???"



What can I say? Fashions change, time moves on; a rolling stone gathers no moss. One day you're the Duke of Earl, the next you're the Duke of Edinburgh. Life's cruel like that. Stand still for





L.U.V. on y'all,



Once was Bob



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