His Lazy Biographer

(For Jon)
 
He was in a drunken dream, the hotel lounge
Flickered like a TV. It was on the way back
From the beach, he forgot the countries
He had drunkenly half-remembered, they
Settled into photos & anecdotes - from the beach
To the company of his bedroom he
Leered his brows, lollygagged his eyes, click-click in a lens
& Lusted direly that this pebble in the sea
Blow to badgery-buggery, be spattered
Into processed envelopes, & told from a doss mattress
To some lazy biographer as an older man, older
& Burnt nearer his filter.
He took a piss in the basin sink, the genius idiot box
Had something on - he siestaed into cartoons &
Sexumentaries. At the sleeves
Of his sleeping profile the hotel impinged
On his hieroglyph; the nested island,
Photocopied out of New Zealand, basted over
The Channel, whining with
Overbearing Europeans sweltered down on his
Aquiline face & another glass dynasty was gulleted
& Smashed on a bar floor.

© 2001 Trout &
Nick Ascroft