The songs of master stranglers ~ Ren

The parlour gents and drunken femmes drink away
the contents of bodies blown along the broken down tongues of Balkan roads
into the mountains dwarfing all vehicles and immerse the bright
undying scars in sun-bled valleys
healing the force of wars in small offices

Unless the heads of myriad jokers scream
beyond the logic of faith and blood
and smile inside the microscopic din of civil service banquets
knowing only the miasma of hangovers inside
old corridors,

Then us drunks laugh at the sober drunks
these wild incapable dunes that cannot
spring or re-arrange the network
since there is only a twitch in the waltz
that rises none-the-less and grows
infinite ways.


is Raoul Moat in a boat. His first words were ‘Newky Brown’. As well as being our most prolific writer, René also creates graphic art, paintings and screenplays.

Latest posts by renemutume (see all)

    This entry was posted by renemutume.

    Leave a Reply

    Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *