Words by Timothy - 1. Virgins and Wolves

Who’s afraid of Virgins and Wolves?

The smudge became a portrait of Picasso

And a glass elevator was lowered into the water

An ancient king inside

How was he to breathe?

In portraits lungs aren’t the only organs

How is he to win the accolades?

In autumn pictures aren’t the only portraits

Do not condescend, I am epileptic, I am sober

Do not hold forth the barrier

I have cascaded through sturdier doors

Through great sheets of glass I have fallen

Naked and shaking

Braking the bones that mend

Tearing skin on diamond glass

Do not condescend

And the police force, they appealed

‘We are men, why are we not allowed to kiss’

And the catholic schoolgirls appealed

‘The officers are men, let them kiss before us!’

And the pope looked out his frosted window

He looked out his frosted window

He grabbed his lowered crotch

He clasped it in his bejeweled right hand

He marveled at the world outside his frosted window

He wondered what his brother The Count would do

Poor Dracula, long buried with cape and cigarettes

The topiary appeared to be looking back

The Greek lion, the Japanese crane, the Australian fox

All appeared to be chasing the other

The Lion chasing the fox

The Fox chasing the Crane

The Crane chasing the lion

The Sun chasing the English baker

He the apprentice of another baker

The Baker of Sodom, whom we owe so much

The Pope embraced his crotch

He thought of Sodom

Was there really such a place?

Near Russia perhaps?

He heard the Bakers all cry at once

‘It is our right to see the officers as men kiss before us!’

The pope thinks and looks to me

I look back

I grab my crotch

I am epileptic!

I am Sober!

A thousand thoughts cascading like the images of a broken mirror

Falling to the floor and rearranging them selves

Upon the shelves of my disorientated mind

Do not condescend

The topiary chase one another

They chase another and the pope decrees

You officers of the guard

You whom wish to kiss before the people

You must chase the topiary

Chase them and trap them in a glass box

Have them interred in the sea

The police officers looked up at his holiness

‘We are men, let us kiss, we will catch your hedgerow

but how will they breathe?’

‘Like the king’ was the reply,

For lungs are not the only organs within a portrait

And in autumn pictures are not the only portraits….

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