audience is
too fucked to
clap
some of them
can’t move they’ve fallen
on the floor among
the beer cans empty bottles cigarette packets
some
can’t even breathe they want more
but are too tired
to cry
the blood
runs in frenzy around
the channels in their heads
their lungs and hearts and livers resound
like connected leads
wired up to the sound
hurtled along they are
too far gone
being at the band’s mercy
they are reduced
to jelly
the sound of a million sunday night jackhammers
a mechanical scream
an electric dream
of Monday
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