All I see are demons
in this apocalyptic season
when everyone with a grievance
pledges allegiance
to those in agreement
of fear of the opposition
deserving paranoid treatment
for a thing called collision.

I live in fear of their numbers
I fear the heights of their hunger
I fear they'll eternalize my slumber
not wanting to go under
I sit there and wonder
how to tear asunder
nightmarish hunters.

This thunderstick granted to me
for my John Wick fantasy
lays in my hands handily
fingers hugging the trigger
ignoring the touch of skin
it makes me feel bigger
than playing the violin.

I need guns because the other side has them
trading players like they're Udonis Haslem
feeling like the metallic version of Aslan
because of the armament in my safe
connecting me to my venom
protecting me from the other's ways
with a second **** in my denim.

I'm afraid of the angry mob
to which I've globbed on
pitchforks in hand
fingers hugging the trigger
of supply and demand
the rich get richer.

Eddy, Bank Robber
When I worked in Park Cake Bakery there was an interesting guy I worked with. His name was Eddy. Now Eddy had a very sharp mind, was an alpha male and had several scars on his face from old fights. It wasn’t his cake making or scars that got our attention; it was his professional criminal past. He was a bank robber who used guns to do it. They’d gone to a bank and made a withdrawal in the coolest way.

“Give us the cash or we’ll plug you! Fill up the bags. Used notes only.” The bank staff did as told just like in a gangster film.

And that was that. They had the cash and would’ve been best investing it in bricks and mortar Brink’s-Mat robbery style. The cops caught them later and he got serious jail time. Upon release he worked in the bakery. The guy who ran the work agency gave him a job as he was an ex copper and wanted to let Eddy have a chance going straight. And straight he went being a good worker.

Eddy’s first words to me were: “Hey mate, do I know you? From jail?”

I knew I had to be careful with this one, paranoia, sharp mind and he looked quite handy. I replied, “You know me now mate! How are you doing?”

We got on very well. Eddy told me some stories after one of the other lads, who was also quite handy but on a lower level told me of Eddy’s past. “He robs banks.”

I asked Eddy on this and he asked me who told me. I said one of the lads but I don’t want you hurting him. He was fine. I said I knew a bank robber when I was in the south before. They’re what I call alternative businessmen. They rob a bank and don’t have to be wage slaves. They know the risks and the cash is actually insured so is paid back to the bank.

There was in issue with a young Pakistani lad. Words were said as Eddy was close to a very pretty Asian lady who the lad also liked. There was a bit of pushing and shoving in the cake storage area. Later both said sorry and shook on it.

Eddy came back to work as he was fired due to an incident. This led to another display of his temper. He had a pal who had a Queen’s crown neck tattoo. They both had a row. They were ten or twenty yards apart and such was Eddy’s word that his mate took a step back! This was after he argued with the bakery manager, a woman who was like a bloke. She took it and gave it back.

Time moved on and I left the bakery. I worked briefly in Littlewoods in Shaw. And who did I see there? Eddy! My opening words to him were: “Where’s my guinea pig?”

It was cool to see Eddy there. I missed him. We chatted and I told him of the incident I saw with his pal. He said did I see it and I replied I did, all of it. It was funny looking back but Eddy could’ve hurt his pal seriously. I’m glad he didn’t.

We worked in the warehouse picking and packing orders. There was another incident with a young Pakistani guy again. Words were said and Eddy gripped him and let’s say told him off. The Pakistani reported the ex armed robber to the supervisors. The two were separated on different floors. Eddy went to the guy’s work area and ‘told him’ off again! The guy never said a bad word to Eddy ever again.

Eddy told me his dad owned a pub near where I used to live. He dad was a big fan of both Numan and Bowie, the superb 80s singers. His dad liked both the same not one over the other.

I wish I’d have spent more time talking to Eddy as he was the real deal. We civilians don’t get to meet real life gangsters very often, part of the underworld. I’m not talking about stealing cars or shop lifting. Eddy was the real deal. If he robs more banks I want him to remain free. I hope he’s fine and healthy right now. Did you know he also had an A Level in art? He was quite a guy.

An irreverent force
armed in localised wars
Flames of rage displayed in waves
Some strings attached
to bring about more force
Shattered glass and burnt bricks
won't fix what a voice is worth
But irrelevance when oppressed
blinded with contempt seeks to vent
So many mistakes are blamed to
create what is made of the states
Powers that be have a responsibility
to assist those in need without them bending the knee

When  did  I learn somewhere,
That Capitalism does not care,
Should have realized when  I was young,
Economies flourish best with guns,
Over here in Oz, you see,
Iron ore and uranium, basically,
These fund our economy,
Is the human race naive?
Depends on what you believe,
Uncle Sam will want you and you,
Take care, young chicks and dudes,
Armed conflict soon everywhere,
When the Covid antidote is here,
Capitalism does not even care....

Is passion a virtue?
A passion that ingests my inside
The bareness exposed emotions
The slow graphic censorship
A depiction of Zion on earth
A deception ranting with wars

Is dedication a virtue?
A definition of a hard felt path
Preserved with heartfelt zeal
An ember that ceases and glows
Triggered touch of perseverance
Till death does you part in parts

Self restraint for one another
Dedicated to fulfil a purpose
Quests of alternative borders
Armoured in armed negations
Negotiations negative dominion
Should we control sensuality?

Armed with ink and lead
Or is it grafite
I don't know, I am dead
Oh look dynamite
Explodes the words in my head
let's fight
Though there is no need
To Die
Or spill blood of the not dead
Though it's wrought of badly worded light
like this you'd read