Is it too much to ask
Break the mould, escape the cask
Our false imprisonment
Our social dilemma, our unholy sacrament

Shaped and ***** by despots and desperados
Served and sequin lined by an abundance of anarchic aficionados
Cruel and abusive
Our systems are corrosive

The economies dictate dilemmas and chaos
An onslaught of modern emotions
There is no guilt to be found inside possession
With no real Gods by your side you grow obese with your obsession

Unimpressed
I'm glad my life has digressed
Far from the enshrined rituals, the daily dazed dances of distraction
The quest to experience and excite shall be my main attraction

My books are piled in the Hallway,
The Girlfriend wants me out,
She can keep all the household cargo
the insecurities and doubt.

I don't care much for chrome Toasters
Just give me my Damon Runyon,
Brendan Behan, James Joyce, Ernest Hemmingway,
Jack Kerouac and Jack London.

Albert Camus, Seamus Heaney, Patrick Kavanagh
Mayakovsky and Roger McGough,
the Steamer, bread -maker, Asparagus- spearer
Are all yours, I'm ******* off.

Just give me a dozen or so boxes,
Not those ***** looks,
Your welcome to the giant fridge-freezer,
All I want, are my books