bent boys

Get bent, said
my awkward side.

Rhythms of
compromised balance
and self-medication
synchronized.

Half-written
rock operas suffering
octaves of mutiny,
revolting
beautifully against
4/4 beats.

I can dance
all night with
these weird
feelings, both
on the floor
and on the ceiling.

I was a bent boy
in being,
enamoured by old
records and a left
of centre
swagger.

But there’s
songs in the stagger,
and I’m
no stranger to
falling down.

Pick your
poison and a
chorus of voices to keep
you company
while you’re
writhing
on the
ground.

Sing it,
off-key, proud because it’s
an audio achievement,

a masterpiece of sound.

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