Flash fiction, short stories, poetry …
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The Hangmen

Fish Clubbing

T

he hangmen hang on enigmatic smiles,
Strung upon the cellar’d sawdust floor,
Clotting as the heartbeat clicks the tiles,
Pushing through the steel-trapped swinging door.

All’s well, the browsers price the carpet square,
Around the base-beat dancing floor,
I that pushed and pulled us there,
To slam dive on bottled glass till twisted, drunken, sore.

Kitch eighties ingrain the cracks,
Skritch and scratch the dance-floor town,
And heave upon the condensation tracks,
That wash the hip hop motion down.

Bodies packed and full in motion,
‘Yeah, baby, you got all the moves,’
In tribes of twos that churn the jumping ocean,
Kicked and drowned on tramping stiletto hooves.

Jellied eyes that scope the aluminium reef,
And watch like lecherous eels,
Sinewy scales that twist and writhe on gold-capped teeth,
And beckon on the nightly shadows, copping feels.

To weigh the flesh and gyrating glimmer,
On shark-tooth calculated scales,
The shoal that glides the silver shimmer,
Affecting ignorance on designer fishnet tails.

Our crew, our hungry troupe rasping,
Dismissive, placed in individual ear-shell words,
Over combo-music gasping, blasting,
This well-soft scene, these dog-dismissive birds.

A conference of eyes,
That decide from empty sucking glass,
To meander on or be that first that tries,
This blue-star steak-house grill of hip and ass.

A blood-hound ponders,
In tilted eyes upon a meaty marrow bone,
The pack frowns and shrugs and wanders,
To drooling foam in round, no lapping glass alone.

Lulled within the swaying lees,
One lone spar a’tooth the ocean’s gloamy cloak,
Dew claws, fierce fangs, beneath a face that no eye sees,
Prowling for the guts to lick the sweat and soak.

A door draped in industrial shreds,
That sway with electric plastic breathing,
Hemmed neon pink in the engine sheds,
On velvet stools the psycho-babble seething.

The electrode tear on feedback slides,
In trance back beat of the organ grinder,
Gristle skinned be-boppin’ bony hides,
Shrugging blades sashay the rhythm finder.

Come trancing beyond the cool-down pit,
Step, kick, the disentangled dancer,
On cracking jars, and piss and spit,
Volumetric swirls, writhing, curling, cancer.

Machismo breaks to ride the tunnel wave,
Jumps upon the steel-sprung, salty wood,
Ghostly flesh beyond the rainbow-rave,
Where high-trance infidelity, grinds the brood.

Fluttered out upon the catchy wires,
Designer hoody craws upon the hours,
Casual chrysali that split within the thumping fires,
As silken suited butterflies, high on poppy flowers.

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