The Children have broken nearly all the windows

The kids, and people like me,

Who flung stones in fit of anger, despair of boredom

Each shard a fucked-up dream

I dance on them barefoot

Tonight I’m the Eleven Million Mile High Dancer

And I don’t need a little bottle

Labelled "Drink Me"

And I don’t need red shoes

I’m dancing

I’m dancing in the wolf’s mouth

I’m dancing below Orion’s belt

I’m spitting out stars

And dancing out my life

Tonight I’m the Eleven Million Mile High Dancer

Even if I am dancing

here

In my living room

Where you can’t see me.

Lurking in the chip-shop

Smell of grease

Clouding her scent

Wide eyes and red, red mouth

Waiting for those chips

That’ll never arrive

Cheapest place in town

They’re waiting for her chips

More longingly than she is

Lipstick-staind chips

Shw wipes the grease on his spotless handkerchief

Flicking her plaits anf giggling

Throws her chip-bag and everything else

Out of his open-top car.

I want to die on a street corner

With a glass in my hand

Shouting obscenities

With my last breath

Smoking as I’m choking

With dignity.