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Songs Are Like Tattoos



tHIS night/ i am strung up as two CATs on heat/ up the
wALLs & halfway cross the ceiling/ REELING/ three in tHE
fucked up MORNING/ screaming (silently, in the silent
city).
     dreams
             have
                     gone
                            to
                                 sleep.
                                  and a mILLion teleVISION sets
sits cOLDly, lonely, in forgotten corners/ and i sit, cold,
alone, in the blue, untalking light/ wishing wishes &
pissing into the hurricane.

Out there/ in the dARKness/ another window BLAZES out
tungsten sorrow/ high frequency tension/ a fellow
sufferer, reviling against mORPHEUS's caress for
free in the morning, dark madness.

But this is not the Chelsea Hotel/ Joni Mitchell is not
at her piano, playing "Blue".






This poem is featured in 'The Bad Seed', Dee Rimbaud's first poetry collection, published by Stride in 1998. You can purchase a signed copy by clicking on the book cover image below.