Trampling through their city paths,
Hunting ground, mean street.
They perch aloft towers of oak;
Dripping with prestige vine, wrapped
With silk leaves, soft to touch
And hard to climb.

The Sun sets over the seven lakes
Of spring kissed, freshly mown
Fields of scorn blessed by
Solitudal and beady eyes.
Gates keeping out the world that
Wishes them harm.

They sit so high peering down,
At our destitution, our self-prohetised Might!
And think:
“Pfft you all wish you could fly

Nina Simone, occupying ears singing about bed and dressers.
Sparsely populated
young couple
Interrupted by saying amusements.
Only two stops
I know where to get off

I knew to mind the gap
I'm a responsible citizen
Voter with a valid railcard
Only two stops
Purchased a ticket
Only two stops
I can not throw up in that time

I can not clear my system of over-priced beer
A niche in the market
Exploited in the name of money Making let's just raise them
let's charge extortionate rates for an autoimmune disease

Paying to support a normal drinking culture embedded into the narrative
Growing by in the western world Listening to Nina Simone
Only one stop now you'd never know what life would be like

Without loud pop charts entertaining a few leaving the others yearning the return of ABBA when times were simpler and people cared about Eurovision and illegal music was your own

“Tickets please”
He seems awfully jolly for a late night ****-shift on Arriva Trains Wales
Who's making him work and why's he So ******* happy about it
Real extra effort! Soul sapping in my opinion
Last stop gotta get off.

I look up to see seagulls in the sky.
Darting through the blue like dolphins through tides.
Saling round my head
Like blood clots in my eyes.

Head aching
Thunderous throbbing throng
Smacking back and forth
Round and round this skull
Water, water God! please
Heal my sickness
Thud slowly, carefully down the stairs
Kitchen? Light switch?
Water water where's the water
Fumbling hazeiness
A hand in the blind reaches out,
Gruffly silhouetted standing leaned
Against the Darkness
A military slouch in shadow
He spoke with a bellow
“Look, you drink too much, it’s not good for health”
******* you old ****
“Trust me don't touch the poison,
Look after yourself!”
With the mighty declarative of this sort
He rose from the casual to a grumpy trot
Past the light revealing old sad Ernest
He's one to ******* talk.

Chicks out of season
Scamper subtle fear
Creation torn up
Jagged and exact
Mud and green beaten
Senselessly into
Concrete submission
For the pleasure of
No honey-like dust
Being dragged over
Woven corridors
Void sovereign feeling
Imprisoned stare blank
Distrust unerring
Greed and Ambition
Little boxed in hills
Animate in guilt
Projected from those
Who like to point out
'Look, look its something'

Latest fad still running
the circuit,
Flashing constant, tried by
      feeding fresh focus
Campaigns on dog walk trials
      And bourgeois coffee *** plots
   hear the snap playing through
       The high-rise
Smokepipes bleed deathly ill into disease
      streets, childheight shortsight
blindside approach to fireburn beast stack
       clean cleared broken
       plumbing catastrophe, own
       beliefs meshed with glass
and law heaps searching
in skip doors for all keyboards
      without the letters S A F E
       private life amongst pirate
       foxes hunt or ignore, the make-up
  Moonlight Pigeons, gauling talking
       heads propping up state, not
       noticing me, you, we, on the seti crying
Quietly
     into purple slumber.

Empty garage lot, barren, regular stop.
1-10 but can't see that far
Later parts hidden by aggregous dark.
Rattle Rattle stay away from that bush
Rattle Rattle stop smoking that kush
Rattle Rattle have a look at yourself
Rattle Rattle you're bad for health, clean up that bad act.
Animal house, screaming down the corridors.
Carefree or ignorant, when you up at morning? Beautifully respectable obnoxsivity, chemical melodrama kitchen scenes, easy-speak blood-rise conversations.
Empty garage lot, barren, regular stop.
1-10 but can't see that far,
Later parts hidden in isolation dark.

My head feels like it's wrapped in cling film I'm ******* noise Bob like a boat on the sea of atmosphere
There's a man vomiting in the cubixal nextdoor
Things can only be described as hot and sweaty and blurry
I'm in a different toliet, someone has work at 11 tomorrow poor guy, this one is nice and bright and there's a coat hanger, I'm going to re-enter the cesspool of ducked ppl
Turns  there is a hangover in here but it's taking me too long to write that so I'm gonna go peeps are waiting
Number 3 and I'm dancing round to he stall
Had a bit of drink and almost threw up
Recovery in my box of safety and alas! I depart

The long walk to stop death tonight.
Could do it blind, done it a hundred times.
Staving off sleep to halt the long dream,
Becoming breathless so breath can be free.
Strange looks from empty taxis
And the figures hiding amongst the black trees.
Lone strides through the mist of moonlessness,
Streetlamp stars guiding the way,
Guiding through the pain.
The weight of morality clinging to eyelids and footstep speed,
Interrupting darks quiet and normality.
The long walk what pushes it on;
The thought of a guilt-full eulogy,
What more could I have done.

Par Lui, avec Lui et en Lui,
A toi dieu le Père tout-passant,
Dans l'unité du Saint-Esprit
Bellowing into the wood rafters
The deft centuries survived eclipsed engulfed
Sing through the lasting bloodshed street-air
Par Lui, avec Lui et en Lui,
Tears torrent tear tides cries swathe through city
Window dusk molten flaked
Deep burning smoke covers white stone
Bridges boom liturgies
Par Lui, avec Lui et en Lui,
Où es-tu? Is wept into darkening sky
Où es-tu allée?
His kingdom crumbles away into clouds lost sacrement falling
Strength finally weakened, collapses.
Notre-Dam is burning, tell the children
The bells can not ring tonight.
Par Lui, avec Lui et en Lui,
A toi dieu le Père tout-passant,
Dans l'unité du Saint-Esprit.

Im dressed in rags but I'm made of riches, promise
I'm the insurance man, a timetabler
Wake me from my slumber,
I'll give you a tenner, doctor, mother,
Double pain relief, those blasted tablets
****** liqueur sent me to sleep.
Chemically numbing,
My dad's never hugged me you know
Old time copper threw me
In the lock-up for stealing liquor.

I'm the self fulling prophecy
Hoping for childish deliverance

Some like it hot I like it cold like a copper coin dropped into my pocket.

Endlessly flicking through three blue apps,
Hopelessly trying to fill some sort of gap.

Feeding an addiction for connection
Seeming to be a part of something

Look at all the friends I have!
They watch my every move, like I do to them.

What did you have for tea?
Where did you go last night?

Don't say it show it, with a cultivated smile and prepared pose ready always to be captured

Nothing's happened unless you get a picture, you were never there if there's not a post about it.

Happy happy happy people
Cry cry cry when tap of fingers doesn't suffice to the last time you tried.

Hospitable welcome exploited.
There's a colonial scent in the hotel
And they say Islamists are peadophiles

The mirror on the borderline dictates fate:
Err we’re not letting them in!
Meanwhile

Our guys are innocent its fake news.
Meanwhile
Faces harden into hurting for a life

Time wastes away any life they might’ve met,
The shining bill that got them into bed
Perpetually puts it all to bed.

The Naked Emperor
Switches the lightswitch:
Dark abyss dark abyss  

Float into the sky
Submerge in a cloud
Watch Judith merrily

Chat to Aristotle
About the beauty of flies
That ripened your summer street air.

Ignore the clog of your throat.
Struggle struggle struggle for breath
Breathless sound whispers
That word:

There’s a slight blur, beginning to fill the cracked screen.
That stench creeping into the everyday, every morning
Stale tobacco, ***** clothes.
Polluting and Disrupting.

The taste of blood at dawn, with no glimpse into how,
Metal, shame, how?
Lukewarm alarming nothingness, no touch then thousands,
Then nothing all over again.

Sweeping past like a cargo train, beating on through and through
The stations. No destination...
Stuck dancing over the same old tracks,
To the slow constant hum of trapped rails.

The outside, is lost in the speed.
Left only the pretty colours, flying past.
Weaving the towns, roads, cities, all creation
Into the blended portrait of a confused place.

Dawn a constant drunk, waves modernity on,
Nights in purple doze, while head in rags’ sat,
Mind pats window pane, sky occupied, flat
Hangs the figures that push plague, condensation
Outside is hugged in damaged and breathless car park clots.

Close the arriving scenes depress, far and close by,
Screaming seagulls sing dreams scattered wide,
Cuts the closing of now yesterday’s hope
Soul-bruise rates sit low tonight.

Danger plays path fields bedsheets house
Graceful clock plays dropped fate in loft
Echos hand by hand  between beams
Downstairs door lock snapped atoms ring
Floorboards creak quake trepidatious
Eyelids meet strange death amusements
Waiting gun hyped howls air tight
Rail, tracks, interrupted delight.

I'm trying to balance a bottle on my head
As I lay in bed with my stolen red
At first it's easy, it stays there peacefully
Resting in comfort above my brow
But now it's beginning to slip
The liquid shakes and falls on my face

Flower bud lays in exhaust
Spluttering petals onto road
Burning in - and through - and out - concrete

Daisy chains hang him from lamppost
Worshippers come out,
Wailing in droves - and masses - and community excursion

Praying instead of liberating
Letting stems grasp at dryracked throat
At final fall checking - and confirming - and cheering

"Wee wee the kid is dead"
"Woo woo smashed his head"
"** ** let's go see his mother cry"

And she cries - and cried - and cried.

I think I've got a tapeworm
Rustling round in intestine bushes
The little body hedge being slinked about
Food supplies gnawed at by sneaky rats
Vein boxes watch in cold quiet slats
Who's that
Worming around in the water
Who's that happening cat gobbling up the drip-drap-drop
Coming down through the gob

I think I've got a tapeworm learning how to cave traverse through my coarsing plains
No veins?
No intestines
Big or small
Large or minute
Minute by minute coverage but the pictures crackled and noises muffled
Of course they are they're coming through
Body mass that's covered in a mask
A mask? That's new to mention that
Is it? I thought I had from the start
Didn't I tell you

I think I've got a tapeworm.

I saw a fox
Do some foreign trot
Hop tee hop into a Waltz
With some bin
Oh how they spin
Ring 'o' Roses round eyes and noises
Stroke his fur baby
Grab hold of those paws
That great orb spins down
I frown, that don't look right
Fright! I spit and taste the floor
Fallen over into the gutter
With no prospect to recover

Mug Book Mug Can Glass Gel Can
The wire strap is carpet and a cup of crumbs
Bottle Bottle Bottle Wire Stain Plastic
Can the glass be coated in ricket gel
In the ******* bin that tissue towel, didn't last five minutes
Towel Bag Plug Crisps Cup Boot Strap Jacket
Mug printed slapped on book, stalked by dead-set dead-eyed mug
Leather Carpet Crumbs Bin Mess
Warped wicked paper coin
Hanging beyond absolute uselessness

In these woods, for me, I see only memory.
In the fallen trees of lonely trails
And scattered shattered leaves,
My dreams of childhood come to be.

They drift off on the muddy damp ground,
To the understated sound
of the slow stream, rushing of cars,
distantly bustling by,

Surrounding the place my friends and I,
Spent empty summer days
In play of discovery
And empty summer nights
In youthful delight.

I’ve needed a **** for four hours
And haven’t had it
I’ve lobbied for the day to be cancelled
But no-one's writing back
The Ache playing on the grass outside
Refuses to let up
In bed still, I refuse to get up.

Without it is a life my body remembers.
Without it is the outline of a bruise a hand a fist a wall.
Without it is bottle and *** ends on the floor,
broken window stained bed sheets filth dripping stench

Look a magpie!
See it fly!
But wait!
    What's that thing in the sky?
    The clouds are heaving moody
    And the stars are begging
        To die.
It hurts to breathe, can’t see can’t write can’t read
    Just let be,
        And we’ll be together again
        In Eternity.

I am the danger,
The insurance man, a timetabler.
Give me a tenner, Mother
Some like it hot
I like it cold like copper coin
Dropped into my pocket.

Brief wind stillness means
Nothing to silence
That myth forgotten
Like our stillness in
The once sacred ground
Changed now dug up burnt
Scattered broken glass
Thrown into noisy
Everyday vast air
Unmemorable

Or bear existing
Indefinitely
Held on a mantel
Strange home lingerer
Trapped in Time's domain
Last standing reproach
Nudging its shoulder
Repeating the phrase
You're here forever
Part of furniture
Just gravestone décor
Dusts sent to remind
That you aren't leaving
Coats triumph of life in
Insignificance
Insignificant

"Look at that ****** ****"
On the night bus a lady
Raises her eyebrows

Rail, tracks, interrupted delight.
Dawn, a constant drunk, waving to move modernism.
Purple slumber nights, the mind strokes windows, head in rags.
Stumbled sky, hanging and occupying figures that push plague.
Condensation outside hugged in damaged and breathless clots.
Close scenes depressing taste, wake Bonaparte, incandescent seagulls are screaming as they fly, scattered, singing dreams.
Interrupting the closing of yesterday, hoping soul-bruise rates sit low tonight.
Danger plays, paths, fields, bedsheets, house.
Strange death amusements meet tender eyelids.
Numbing the pipedream special, the destination freshly yellow and late,
Colour pretty and clear.

Walking along the lake at night under influence of k easy to lose one self in the dark or float into the lake screens scream tourist attraction geese follow
Empass into land into dark into grassy knols into questioning lights still on a silohuette of a great tower block in his hidden in the dark
I shouldn't have left my k at home

Blue and yellow light bulbs.
One, creeping hint of modernism.
The other, part of overall dying romance.
Won't find the later anymore.
Unfavorable ecologically.
Or was it economically

Day drinkers, special breed of crumbling grey men. Sitting one by one, divided amongst the pubs.
The slow hum, newspaper flicking, condensation dripping O how depressing living on too concerned with the next drink to die young.
Picked out for their ability to withstand, 60 years of pints and *** ends.
What can I say, am I one of them just lacking the grey hair but not the crumbling skin, without the ageded stumbled gait with the 60 years yet to come.

MEANWHILE EVERYONE SCREAMS
THE ROYAL BABY’S HERE
BUT I CHECKED THE HOSPITAL
THEY’VE GOT A TONNE WHICH ONE
NOT THAT ONE OR THAT ONE
NO NO THE SON AND DAUGHTER PARENTS MOGUL TITANS
THE BABY WITH THE TRUST FUND
THAT SURPASSES VENEZUELA'S NATIONAL INCOME
THE COUSIN *******, SORRY THAT’S A BIT BASE
SOME WOULD SAY CLICHE
BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.
THAT HOME COUNTY OLDER THAN BEING BLUE, ME OR YOU,
THE BLOOD COURSING THROUGH THE DRY SOIL IS THEIRS SUPPOSEDLY
GREEDY BUSHES KEEP POPPING UP DUCHESS
THEY DON’T GIVE ME FRUIT
SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE A LOOK FOR THE GRAIN SUPPLIES
MEANWHILE EVERYONE (I’m looking at you BBC) SCREAMS.