The guitar weeps
Technicolour
Men in blue suits
Reflect
Dancing lights
And girls swish their skirts

Candy coloured Identities
Go berserk
On the floor
Musical masturbation
Dancing like
we’re stripping bare

A form of emancipation
Loving decapitated notions
Of religious word
Tired of loving
What was never there

They call us dirty
As we drink our rum
And smoke our tokes
We’re acting like
We’re from the 60’s

Taking a detour
From prudish disgust
Baring it all
Under midnight lights
Of burning lust

Randy bodies
Dancing
Wounded from a god
Not here or there
Trying to free ourselves
From ideas of sin
And that of hell

Are we obedient
To the rebellion?
All the pushers
On the streets
“Take another! You’ll be free!”
Neon lights
And screams misheard
For pleasure
As we screw
Ourselves
Into tighter
Boxes
Trying each other on
With no one to spare.

(C) 2016 March

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