BUDDHIST PUNK
There were plastic spiritualists
Trudging about in their dreadlocks and flip flops
Quoting the Bodhisattva
From their new IPhone
Chatuchak Park hearing
Hotel California
For the first time
Never felt so far from home
And glad of it
The heart of the Grand Palace
Sailing down the river
Sobs of anarchy
In blistering heat
She works at
One of those stores
Is a Buddhist punk
In pink prom dress
Hair shaved on one side
Carrying Nietzsche and
Vivienne Westwood
Partying with the prostitutes
Down at Betty’s Bar
She’s in front of me
But miles away
I’ve never looked at anyone before
And thought
They might have all the answers
But that day
In Bangkok
I did
With her.
THE CANDIDATE
The candidate
Does not
Speak for me
With his screw on hairdo
And inscrutable lies
I want to smash his ribs in
ten times over
and hope he chokes
on a loosened tooth
That swine
The best we can
hope
for is that
the mummified
little bastard
chomps on a raw prawn
and is stricken
by a killer bout of
food poisoning
that would floor
12 bulls
No
The candidate
Does not
Speak for me.
Steven
Storrie has worked as a cable T.V repair man, dishwasher,
choreographer, ice cream vendor and junk yard attendant. Tired of this
he is currently locked in his basement working on his first collection
of poetry, bickering with his neighbours over nothing and storing the
baseballs he keeps when they are hit into his yard. You can find him at
the website he runs, 'Black Coffee For Breakfast', at http://renegadepriest11.wix.
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