The transparent man says he has thick skin,
but bursts into tears when he stands on a pin.
He wants to write a classic, but cannot begin,
because the littlest thing sends him off in a spin.
Oh I pity you old fool, for you have never learned.
You’ve spent a lifetime in school,
but no knowledge have you earned.

Me and Mary moved in together almost six months ago now. We moved into a little smelly carpeted paradise on the top floor of pre-war building in Dennistoun . It has three rooms, and that's all we needed: The glowing yellow walled bedroom, the freezing grey tiled bathroom ( that could wake a dead man up for work), and the warm red living room that has a sink and a cooker shoved in the corner of it.

In the beginning it was bliss: childish ****** adventure, and many a burnt stew. We would watch ***** catch up t.v on our laptops until well after midnight, falling asleep in each others arms on the couch, with easy dreams and full bellies; I don’t think we ever slept on our bed then, because then it had a better purpose. But that’s where she sleeps now, and I’m on the couch staring at the ceiling night after night, hoping she’ll call me in. But she hasn’t, and it’s been almost a week since she’s said anything to me. You see thirty days ago I lost my job with the leccy grid, and we’ve had to cut back on a few things as a precaution: First it was our Friday night bottle of wine, and then it was our nights out on the Saturday; then good portabella mushrooms, then it was the Netflix subscriptions and last week I had to cancel our B.T account. I’v tried to tell her it’s only temporary, that I’ll be back on my feet in no time, and all she has to do is trust and believe in me and what we have together. But she's tired from working every shift she can get, and the last thing she said to me was with wet eyes that refused to focus on me:  “ How can I love you without wifi?”.

To be fair to her, it was in the middle of a very heated conversation where we had both said some incredibly non-sensical attacks on one another, but it’s stuck with me. Is that all we are? A ****** little connection that you pay for monthly?

I placed a jar in Tennessee,
And round it was, upon a hill.
It made the slovenly wilderness
Surround that hill.

The wilderness rose up to it,
And sprawled around; no longer wild.
The jar was round upon the ground
And tall and of a port in air.

It took dominion everywhere.
The jar was gray and bare.
It did not give of bird or bush,
Like nothing. else in Tennessee.

Come to the place where we bury strangers.
We hang them up to dry til' their rotten,
turned mad, and all sides of themselves forgotten;
then we drink their blood, despite the dangers.
Then, and only then do we sing them to sleep:
such disharmony blaring down their ears on repeat.
The will to give up soon starts to creep,
and we listen for the last breath and the last heart beat.

Come to the place where we bury strangers-
I know that your at least little tempted.
But many have failed when they have attempted
to hold on to their heads in these chambers.
We can and we will sing you sickly to sleep:
such disharmony blaring down your ears on repeat.
The will to give up soon starts to creep,
and we listen for your last breath and your last heart beat.

We were crazy before you could catch it.
We walk in green mazes with boxes of matches.
We bury bodies and we've buried a few hatchets.
We were crazy before you could catch it.

So come to the place where we like to go.
I think you'll find us to be easy in nature.  
We do not pass judgement on any creature,
nor do we kick someone when their down and low.
We just drink a little blood and bury a few strangers.

"On a scale of techno to techno,
how much techno do you techno?
Have you techno'd from the get go
or do you only techno when yer friends go? "

" I only came here to move my heavy feet. "

" Oh so your just following the fleet?"

" No. No. No. I techno in my sleep,
and when I wake I walk with techno on repeat."

Arrogant in faith and blind in sin,
Virtue without and hatred within,
Flavourless in taste and foulness in rhyming.
Crude in diction and metre-less in timing.
Headless in form and weightless in meaning.
They never sleep, they stay awake ( half heartedly dreaming).
Where have the poets gone?