In the Peach Tree, Moore Street

In the Peach  Tree,  Moore Street

Halfway through my second plate

of sizzling chestnuts

                                  wrapped in jellyfish skins

i pause to lick my lips

                            and belch discreetly

wishing that i could let go of my face

rise up through the pores of my body 

(who will pay who will pay who will pay for all this beauty?)

Become the Moore Street Djinn

be tea-steam

                   drifting over

                                   pyramids of strawberries

bask in wafting Mandarin,

Serbo-Croat,  Dublinese

flowing in and out of curls and kinks

along rows of chocolate tinted mannequins

(who's to blame who's to blame for all this beauty?)

a note in  a traders' lilting rosary

a flog- charm for fantastical vegetables

a plainchant of the price of things

bananiss

             kookumbers

                                    overjins

( who can we bribe who can we bribe who can we bribe for all this beauty?)

taking form, when I please,

as a dragon from Shenyang

Or a poster girl

                     for a tattoo shop

                                           named Ivy

(we will smash up we will smash up we will smash up all this beauty)