by Patricia Walsh
Anything looks appetising under the disco lights,
outnumbering cutlery on a given night,
writing out miracles on finite napkins
toughly adding to problems pervading.
Dead wives judge the man you’ve become,
heartened food corresponds to advertisement,
supposed victuals repeating the year
letting go hungry a new luxury tax.
Informatory calling out to display your name,
checking out the burnt offering progress
half-price returns after eating full well,
mis-formed candle-wax conforms to its mirror.
This elaborate hill, no attention span concocting
studied like fire and ice, moving in sagely
technical drawing like a ghost alighting
excellence through form a weathered bettering.
Dancing the other night, not handling freedom,
loving the misrule of engaging peers,
cleaning the silence over a murky cloth
engaging the better artefacts through cash.
Inducing the monster going over time
slammed into disability a temporary glitch
revenged served frozen, too crappy at it
a type of flood hits the water, infinite.