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Janice’s Looks in the Mirror

Like a pendulum from an orange clockwork

The agent high above on raucous prayers

She hung high and dry suspended in drought


Resembling a shot of liquid poppies injected

The heroine succumbed in Noah’s wet arch

Until finally she could walk on fantasy’s water

Imagined ecstasy popped upon gold in her veins


Liberation caressed her intimate secrets and she

Flung all caution to the winds of magic divined

When polychrome voices touched upon fear

Cacophonous vision stuttered to muttering halt

Janice’s yoyo lost all its thread and arrested

Once more as she touched moribund oblivion


She had desired to be a delirious trapeze artist

But now she performed like a poodle in Pavlov’s

Circus faltering in murky saliva of human condition


Or maybe a train driver yet there was no light in

The tunnel other than of a high-speed oncoming train


A doctor a lawyer or professor of ancient dreams

Or an archaeologist unearthing sunken promises

Her pendulum pivoted on the Universe out of kilter

Axis and atlas creaked a bottle neck with axes to sever

Severe delirium sprung onto sewers of foul tasting grime


The heated spoon and the plunger ready for shooting

Yet there was no more drug in her pockets of gloom

One more shot to relieve the despair and her out and

Alone but two out of three was simply not good enough


The prophecy had abandoned its call and in one

Lucid moment she wished she had paid more 

Attention to chemistry classes in highest of learning


Now with her school uniform exchanged for sparse

Clothing with a push up bra lifting sagging delusion

Skinned and skimmed in torn knickers less wholesome

Than the hole presenting her shaved frontal pelvic mount

She begged for a punter or two if they must to save her


Pushing and pulling she wished for tarantula’s sting

To enter its venomous oracle into any available orifice

Wide open her soul had closed over a penultimate punt


When she begged for mercy almighty and the street corner

Seeded its pollen in the hollow of her once physical beauty

She lay bruised and battered as the last open vessel under

Her tongue felt the cold of a shooter with the trigger un-cocked  


Happiness unfolded more than a warm gun as she exploded

Janice had become free after vigorous mortis was splashed

All over her bloody knickers as her mirror shattered the fall
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