skull and bones

a thought ricochets through skull and bone
a wall of chicken and bookies in my mind
a wall of poultry and dead end fallacy in the street
this is for the 50 billion dead fucking chickens
this is for the 50 billion quid down the drain
year on year
in the church of southern fried limbs
in the temple of stolen money
i take off my shoes

i think neon still has its gravity
a sordid charm
manifesting insects
i take off my hat
here's to guessing at the future
and hoping fate will take pity
here's to the guillotine
here's to the plughole

here's to the anthropomorphised clucking animals
of the fluorescent facade
with the sexualised facial features
and the downplaying of grim reality
the rippling pectorals
and the devout, bulging, pre-pubescent eyes
i undo my belt

it's sick
all the diseased lottery dreams
terminally rigged ribbons of hope
clogging up city arteries
i untuck my shirt
thinking, soon
soon we'll all be rich