After a hard days fight,
we were taken prisoner
by the grays.

It was way out in the hinterlands,
on the edge of tomorrow,
in the Battle of Sorrows
when they took us in.
Light was failing,
it was nearing night
when they brought us
in for interrogation.

Of course,
despite their methods,
we told them nothing,
nothing that would reveal anything
about the secret weapon,
the star-killer machine
that would be
the end of life
as we know it.

Besides, it's silly
to give the enemy
such valuable information,
information like that could turn the tide,
could destroy the whole universe,
make losers out of all of us.
I hope our side keeps it hidden.

Retaining my feelings and personal streamlight
can be  synonymous with a record player
start-stop, and cueing for  movement
but never repeat "repeat".
I could not necessarily afford to  retreat
into a  misplaced  time zone
and face yesterdays despondent pitch.

percussion pounds painfully pleasant
boom ba dum boom
there is a certain rhythm
to the way people speak
skip across the plains of this globe
and you’ll hear it
at times when I am at my most idle
I can find my hands
going rat tat tat rat
we listen to hip hop
the scratching sound of a needle drop
enough to catch the breath at the top of the path
making your heartbeat stop
I always fancied guitars
strumming your pain with my fingers
but instead i found that words
pop pop pop
out of my mouth
like faulty machine gun fire
I’ll be your rhythmic drum for hire
waiting at the tail end
of all your punch lines
ba dum tish
angry kids pound graphite graffiti onto their desks
which say things like
SOS
Mike was here
School *****
for a good time call X Y and Z
make me an alarm clock
tick tocking in the corner
like your personal circadian metronome
see, people like we
don’t need a megaphone
we just open our mouth
when we knock our messages out
and let them find a place to call their own
a home for the percussionist

The lone wolf sits under the full moon of a winter's night.
His eyes focused forward, the grit of the desert whips him.
Slowly he lifts his head and emits his solitary howl.
The night echoes a response back on its icy breeze.
Roaming packs move close as they corner a helpless prey.
Their presence doesn't pull him away from his true love.
The isolated night envelopes his mind and eases his soul.
Alone but connected as the star dust flows through his veins.

1) I wish people called me Mike Hart, I think it’s a really cool name. I wish I were a year younger and a foot taller. I wish I spoke less and listened more.

2) I’m a love child between science and art but I was raised under the rain in a house made of silver linings. Behind a red door, with gold hearted kids peeking through windows at a world full of endless possibilities.

3) I don’t share a lot about myself. I have dreams my pillows don’t know about and skeletons my closet hasn’t seen. I tend to hide things in the space between the ink and the page where no one can find them.

4) I don’t connect with a lot of girls, but when I do, I tie my shoelaces to their heart strings to stop myself from falling for anyone else. All I have left are scars on my chest from all the times cupid has missed and a few ****** shoelaces.

5) I have a photographic memory but the pictures tend to come out more picasso than canon. I tend to overcomplicate things, I describe hair as the perfect shade of sunset or the sun as that perfect shade of blonde. And I’m called a poet for this.

6) I’m familiar with broken promises and broken people, sometimes I’m doing the breaking. It took me a while to realise that being a man wasn’t about how strong you were to break things but how strong you were to fix them.

7) I love Ice cream in winter, it makes my body shake and reminds me I’m a bit like an earthquake. My laugh has always been a bit too loud but I always believed my life will grow into it.

8) I have holes in my sleeves from where my heart used to be. I locked it up in my rib cage and swallowed the skeleton key. I guess I took it too literal when they said the way to a mans heart is through his stomach.

9) Honestly, I don’t know a lot about myself, but I do know that sometimes my mind is like a paper mâché prison and it’s hard to control the thoughts that get out. Most days I try to keep my lips zipped shut but my eyes are like a see through body bag. On other days music tends to be good enough superglue for broken masks.

10) Hi, I’m Dagogo Hart and I’m Human.