A GUTTER LOVEBY

GEORGE JAMES

A Field Full Of RushesFamiliar fields

Follow closely at my heelsAs I take turns around

Bad tempered balustradesDown in Deserts Of Love

-Begging for bogus bullion Behind a Baghdad brothel

I believed only in untruths… And arabesques, as she undressed

Down in Deserts Of Love -

I remember the sinkingCity would take us easy

Unto the evening air, so coldIt should have snowed

Down in Deserts Of Love -

Lamenting frailty,Frequenting vice

‘till self-perverted artifice Unfound me suddenly mostly loathly

Down in Deserts Of Love

THE DRINKER (SELF PORTRAIT)

ERNST LUDWIG KIRCHNER

I have seen the horrors of a life misspent In filth and floundery With thieves and scoundrelsIn love, in liqueur, forever Thinner;On rooftopsOf dram shops-Subcontinental misadventure!And all that is wicked and weary,Terrific and teary, gorifies the gracesOf the pages of dead men’s diaries.

An ex-voto to the lotusOf milagros in the hollowsOf bohemian bureaus that bellow below us;

I’m missing my Madonna,Surely I’m a gonner!

A Doggerel’s Dinner

SY VON HARDENOTTO DIX

Breaking into Bedlam’s opaque hallways Of diabolic dreaming And senseless meanings Where vagabonds and heathensAre caught up in coat-tails And prostitutes pickpocket politicians, Bequeathed beneath Billows of spirals of shadows;With covetous cavorts towardsLegacies of vanity and malady,Bodies loved and bodies left In sunken cities, desert graves,And irksome taverns on council estates.

In this panorama of inhumanity,All jest and jeer and jealousy,Ghosts and ghouls and drunken foolsAre twisting in terror of a tincture,A gingerbread wine, a faerie’s fancies With all the vices of a brothel in a bottle,Half captivating, half decapitating!

Oh, to be below the Blue And not a part of this appalling vista,Surrounded by sinister silhouettes Of wraiths and witches;Some doomed dreamer Sits alone reading of rosariesAnd writing the poetry of poisons,Lost in leagues of lucid dreamsAnd reveries of pure repulsion,Sorrow in his sights, and sickness in his skeleton.

TheHeadHunted

THE MAN MADE MAD BY FEARGUSTAVE COURBET

It’s as if Paris dreamedUs all up one November eveningA green mist droppedDown from the rooftopsAnd together with the starsWe disappeared on the ramparts.

PEA SOUP

THE ABSINTHE DRINKERPABLO PICASSO

Armed with a cascadingAccompaniment of cloudsI catch falling anvils,I see the grayness in the blue

I sit, sick of sentimentsIn a daze of days put to wasteStaring at steamed-up window panesOn broken down suburban trains

Oh! How I fake forever!I feel the hoplessness of never

LA FEMME EN CHAISEANDRÉ DERAIN

She found me, unfortunately Brilliantly lost Between the top and bottom, My biggest fear being my own morals,

With leaky laurels, hopelessly Appalling and no one left to be,I set out on a solid sea;

Inclinations soon turned rotten Without a message in my bottle And as I bowed upon the brink,Sweetly soilwards, my ship did sink.

Savage modernity deepensSpending endless evenings Depressing over anything!

Nature had no business with me.

MORPHINOMANE

EUGÈNE SAMUEL GRASSET

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