On the day I was born it was raining
the wind coming in from the East
Dad was toasting marshmallows
but
It wasn't me having a feast
I was kicking and screaming
and
Mother was beaming with pride.

Memories are oft' manufactured
to lessen the pain of this life,

This is how people die
they work late
go home
get some shut eye
and start early the next
day.

If they're going to slay me
they'd best fukin pay me
a living wage.

On the offchance
that there is a chance

I'll be taking
it.

Click and collect,
what a way to connect
with the death of the high street.

Amazon's amazing
everyone's got their spades in
digging a hole.

In the end
there'll be no need for interaction
we'll all be housebound
getting around
on shopping carts.

Imagine not speaking
week in and week out,
no one to say
how are you keeping?
how are you sleeping?

there will only be you
scrolling

wake
break
fast
go to
work
slow
and
know
my own worth
so
I won't be
getting paid.

When I thought of penny-farthing lane and the girl who lived at twenty-nine, the girl who should have by rights been mine and that slimy toad who lived up the road,
I cried,

he stole her away and you might chime in and say, the blame's on you, you didn't do enough, wasn't her Knight in shining, yeah, yeah, everyone wants to chime in with what I didn't do,

and now it's work
no play,
no
isn't that the way
it always ends?

Out of order
and aren't we all at times?

I sit quietly in the corner making animals from pipe cleaners, it's a dying art and only old farts who got off watching Blue Peter remember it.
I would make animals from balloons but I haven't got the breath to spare and what I do have is being saved for a rainy day.

Nearly Friday which makes no difference when or if you work at the weekend.

I find that once again I am offloading random thoughts which is puzzling but I suppose random thoughts are just pieces in a jigsaw, you know that they will fit together when they are put in the right place.

Woke at twelve and one and when two came along I was awake, for **** sake what happened to a good night and its sleep?

and dreams, holy Mary some are really scary and some quite blue but mostly though they're sweet as you drift slowly through.

The lake.
jumped in and hoped for the best,
but
bearing in mind that the water was deep,
I wore a Mae West.

Mae although no longer with us
wore it better.

If these threads are all I have and I'm picking at the seams and the dreams are recognisable as something lost far in the past what will become of me when the tapestry that I believe to be me falls apart?

Futures and their trading.

they're raiding the pension *** again,
high-fiving it on the gravy train
and we allow it
is that insane
or just the state of play?