At times, the greyness sidles in
snuggles up to me and
I begin
to see in shades of black and white.
It all adds up to being right, but feels as if
I don't belong.

At times, times ten it sidles in again
stronger and more disconcerting
hurting me,
I see that greyness and in all fairness
it sees me as
a willing victim.

Tuesday has to be
the worst thing that is thrown at me,there is a lack of fun when Monday's done and Tuesday rises up to be,the zombie that walks inside of me.

It starts okay but then breaks the day, a clumsy numbing feeling then seeps
slowly through the ceiling,down the walls,along the floor,then flings wide open any door I hide behind,resigned I cry,
'why oh why does Tuesday come?
I try to run but Tuesday's quicker,years of being have made it slicker than I could be,I can't get free ,it sticks like glue,
who would make a day like this to **** me off and send me mad,foaming at the gills,filled with headache pills and no amount of any skills can save me from this billhook day which hangs around as if to say,
'get over it you little ****,I'm here to stay 'til Wednesday'

Eventually as all things do it ends,sends me screaming into the night as if I might meet Wednesday before it's due,
I never do.
The same thing happens once a week,I try to seek another way,build a bridge across Tuesday,but Tuesday has me ******* and once again I find I'm glued to it.

I have never liked and never will,Tuesday makes me feel so ill,I need another headache pill,on the scale of one to ten it scores a nill,
I really need to go and chill,
'til Wednesday.

Is it the culture of vultures or the vultures of culture that carries us away?
dress down or if you want to impress, don't dress at all,
a place guaranteed in the hall of fame,
name?
no worry,
we'll jiffy one for you in a squid's arm or two which is shorthand for quite very soon.


If the TV don't get you the radio will, one or the other will interrogate you
'til you crack and you'll go out and buy the latest rack for the records you no longer own,
an Englishman's home is his own Barbara Castle but that was forever ago and lots of John Snow have flowed under the bridges since then,
Why,
I remember when beer was only two and ten and for those of you who don't know that's 2/10p in slow mo'.

eat drink, be merry
I shall,
with my feet on the pouffe  and an old trusty pipe, have a small tot of sherry,
the culture
the vulture
my life.

No one sets out that sets out to be this, when 
this 
is without anything.

I have dreams that travel 
dreams that unravel the timbre 
of time.

A full stop,
but I drop all pretension and
only mention this is as it is.

The fragrance always betrays me
when the desire arises within me,
we are the senses 
if senses can
sense the end to a beginning.

Was it in the loss or in
the winning that 
made being cynical the night watchman at the last 
innings?

and who was it being
bowled and caught?

A file in a life full of files flies away.

I collide with each day that gets in my way
moving over for no one 
on track for the big one 
in time

and

in a time when time becomes clear to me 
in the density and thoughts of eternity 
where I collide again and again infinitely 
I move over.

It is now
when the evening draws in and the warmth of the day dances on the point of a pin when the chances of charity from strangers are slim and the thought of that cardboard..
...yes,
that cardboard on the sidewalk by the superstore outside, the pharmacy, on the street where your breath paints the air with a sense of foreboding, it feels like you're loading the twelve bore by the superstore, super, the pharmacy opens at six.

So
we drop in a coin or two tell you to get a job, tidy up, have some respect for yourself and then we forget you because we're not you and we never will be, but I know and so do you that you were 'we' once, until the crash came and the sky fell in and any warmth now dances on the point of a pin.

Tough to get back and harder to get in when you're out of the loop, it's like the World's caving in on you and all you can see are the special offers in the windows of the superstore by the pharmacy.

It is now in the moment where you could be where you once went, but you're intent on self-misery and self-loathing is your luxury.

The night drifts in on the wing of a prayer.

Down on platform twenty three
I saw her
and she saw me
but didn't wait.
The train for Margate left at nine
on time.
I was late for the weekend date
she'd gone with another Mother's son
and left me there alone and glum.
At five past ten when ready to leave
a young lady grabbed me by the sleeve
and I could not believe
she had come back walked a mile
on the railway track
for me
what glee
she
is the best that she could be
I'm just lucky.

I pass myself off as a replica.

previous applicants need not apply?
why?

are we just fodder for cannon when needed
and when needs arise
who dies?
not them tinpot general men
it's us
and then the telegram's sent
to the family?

I suppose they just text telegrams today
it's another institution that passed slowly away

there's much to be said for the personal touch
but we don't get too much of that.

On Sunday I usually hate Sunday
which is the day before what I call
no fun day
a monday
and I want it to be Friday

I'd like it to be Friday in
nineteen sixty nine
but likes are like time mines
they blow up in your face,

that's why I pass myself off as a replica,
I never knew the real me.

'Jack be nimble
Jack be quick',
Jack's a *******, it
makes me sick to think of him
young and fit
not fat but slim
and look at me,
I've
seen better days.

There are lines upon the lines upon the lines created in my face
my stomach used to have a place to fit, no more,
the last notch on my belt has bit the dust
if I must,
I can
or just about pretend to be the man I am.

The musk deer's gone
this is just a husk that carries on
to
blow away in what was once
a better day.

Thrown forward from the past to break upon the bread was cast the scattering, if that's the word,
that was the word.

I heard it not so far away
as if I hear words as
I lay
asleep.


Dreams, they told me, but I know  dreams can hold me tight when all is certain to be lost and in these dreams from far away when words are ripening like hay I make them all my own.

My home was always home to me, no castles there for I was free to wander through the cornfields which led out to the rushing brook where once I took the vow that somewhere some day somehow I'd find the way to hear the  words thrown, wish I'd known then what I know not now and yet ignorance though no defence is the only one I have.

...and there she stands as if on air
A light wind blowing through her hair.
A Demi Queen..
..using language that is so obscene
I have to turn away.

But she seems to know the words I want to say..
,,whip me.strip me
Pip me to the post.
After all I am first and foremost a male of the species
She's
A dark Demon who seems bent on my fall.

The Demi Queen is just a dream but the tracks across my back from the belial, belie the fiction as a fact..
..and later...

..As I sit upon the kitchen floor and look at my reflection in the safety glass of the gas oven door,
I wonder why I dream of pain and wonder,hope I'll dream again of wanton lust.
In the dust I shake off from my clothes I rise again but know she knows I wait for her to float in on the evening air.
And in the slip of moulding clay I'll feel the whip again
today, and in the meantime I shall pray.

There are some who knew what a doobree
could do and a doobree could do it so well,
some slid with me on a slide into hell
with a doobree you could do that as well.

Now,
if a doobree doo is not a drug you would use
I have one more, which is
my own drug of choice,
and,
it's to open your mouth and inject your voice
everywhere a doobree can't.

In God we trust but the economy went bust and we ain't got a crust of bread.
Got no lead in my pencil,no ink in my pen and I'm wondering when my memory's going to go.
and I'm getting slow,
I remember a time or it may recall me, when as a young man of twenty ,or two maybe three, I was wealthy and healthy and full of it all but then came the crash and I started to fall.
And I dropped,stopped being an earner, learnt to survive on week old stale pies and hand outs, the hand me down,the other side of life in any big town,
where you pay your trust to the temples of dust and the soup comes free,with a touch of religion on the crust of dry bread and sometime's I think that God must be dead.

We do as we do and we can't do no more and the poor will always be poured down the drain,thrown out of the door,not let in,begging on street corners,
don't they look thin!

They do as they do and they do it so well and they got us believing in a new branding of hell where the adverts pervert the minds of the young and that nothing good comes from it being homespun and the gun at your head is something to think of and, is God really dead?

Led to the queue and waiting in line for another strangulation,I am choking on time.
I want what's mine,give me my due
You own it all
for now.

There's a cotton wool ball where my head used to be, runny eyes, runny nose and that's how it goes on a Wednesday in May,
I may take a hot drink
I think that I will with some lemon and honey, I may take a pill but as yet I'm unsure if there's a cure for this malady, m' lady will know, she is the remedy for all things that go
wrong.
My throat's set afire as the fever gets higher and as the brandy gets lower, I become slower, my eyes and my nose cease to run and I feel that I'm on the road to recovery, then I wake and discover she has tended my aches, taken my pain, changed all the bedsheets and she has done it again, mended the man as only she can.
The cotton wool ball has scored an own goal and I've won for a while, so it's a smile for the day and the way she defends me against anything that attacks me or lays me down low and that's how things go
on a Wednesday in May.

I see the mechanical men that peddle the illusion of wheels which drive down to the crankshaft,staffed by robbers and thieves that steal into the day putting a tax on the way you would speak,
and I peek in through the keyhole of Whitehall, dragging the chain and the ball that is tied to my leg,and sooner or later I will beg for some leeway from the mandarins but they'll say,
'Go away little man,we are the mechanical men in the doing of things and we'll bring blood and thunder,put you down 'til you go under,don't bother us now',
I have bowed to their power and ****** on their shoes,I choose not to be used by the ones who abuse the privilege of rank and position.

Please tell me that this is not true,
that the election of robots to Westminster is actually down to me and to people like you, and we get what we vote for,the
***** dealing,wheeling out manifestos,posing for papers,oil cans for arseholes and bolts for their braces,automatic voices,you've got so many more choices than this shower of ****,
do your bit,a bit of research,search online, easy most of the time,vote for them and you'll vote for anyone,vote for anyone but,
the mechanical men have replicated in them and all is lost,we are *******,might as well use the suicide pill.
I will.

It was very standoffish
back in the forties
still
I wish I'd been there.

Not so different today
just a new way of being
in and seeing things in
a different way.

*****
a torpedo
from
Saucelito
killed time in
the winery

a fine fellow he,

but down there in the canyons
loose cannons
abandon
all hope.

Sitting on the grass
watching buzzards as
they pass,
they're watching me
wondering when.
Let them wonder as I wander far from here and
clear my mind and
in the clearing there I see her.

She waits and has been for so long
as I have waited for this moment to belong
to something greater than I see,
she greets me with a smile, a
'golly gee and glad you came'
to the buzzards it's all the same but
it means the world
to me.

I sit in Amniotic sac

No going back.

I’m on a berth to history

A cruise through lifes rich mystery.

I feel her heartbeat

Watch her meet

The spasms

Contractions.

Fractions of time

Time to be mine.

I see the beginning of the end

Nurses tend.

And I am born.

Did you wake up thinking of me
did you wake up wondering what it is I can see
or did you sleep anyway
did you want to hold onto the day 'til forever came knocking at the door
did you like what you saw
was it worth waiting for
did you wake up thinking of me?

When I sleep, I see you in my dream
and if it seems like I'm dreaming the meaning is clear
I need to get near to you
tomorrow that's what I'll do
did you wake up thinking of me?

When we're old will life tell us okay
you can have your dreams everyday
would it be just the same
is it more than a game
did you wake up thinking of me.

When the morning is tangled in night
and the evening is light from another day
That's when I listen real carefully
hoping you care for me
glad that you're there to see
did you wake up thinking of me?

I stop there,
pop
her
the question,
awaiting
the reply.

The waiting room is full of 'dope'
zimmer frames filled with no hope and
I am on the slide.

They lied to me,
the ******* said,
'retirement's good,
and you'll have time to tend the flower bed'
but they never told me,that
arthritis and gout would put me out
to grass,
well
they can kiss my ***.

Tombstone a home for some.
A holster
gun
some ammunition.
Rob the bank bring to fruition
history
more ammunition.

Up on boothill
down at heel
how can you feel so cool?
Earp's no fool he'll shoot and hit
then spit
as death chews on your bones
More empty homes in
Tombstone.

A lodestone
a rhinestone
everybody's got a bone
to pick.
Another hick ambles into town
gunned down
blown away
a tombstone day
not much I can say
about that.

My DNA has lost its way
I don't know who I am
the double helix strangles me,
can anyone untangle me
or would you leave me dangling,twisting,eroding
slowly in the coding,hanging from the lowest
common denominator,
apeman, ape man ,no escape man
it's all relative
we all sit in the glasshouse and
pretend
that we all live.

Let's go down to Soho square and when we're there let's take a peek at the corner house, Number one,Greek Street.
A quaint old looking place with a forward thinking modern face,outpacing homelessness I see by being an employment academy.
A setup unlike those I've known that shows a pathway to a home,a job, a feeling of and I detect, what I feel and that's self respect.
Quite cute this charitable institute and well thought of through the years,so if you're down there in the West End wend your way to Soho Square and take at look at what's happening there,it is truly
a revelation indeed for those we find that are in need and there are many that I know who've been and gone and now go on
into that brighter future.

Notes,
like boats on the sea,
softly sailing through me,
the music makes waves in my heart.
I am listening to, a
Rhapsody in Blue and it's hot,
a top hat and tails
and off Gershwin sails,
one more boat that will be,
sweet
music sailing through me and
into the depths of my sea.

I have spoken with emissaries from the embassies of hope who filled me with foreboding of what is to come,I have seen Diplomats run from the mountains of papers that climb up their backs.
In sacks full of Christmas the listless lay dying,babies unattended left hungry and crying and the peace pipe is smoked in the Olive groves of Turkey,while the radioactivity,the new age nativity is played out in church halls.
I see buildings arise as each old building falls and the dust spreads its memories through the thoughts I have walked through.
I see you dressed in Sepia with the sunlight behind you
I see you and no more now
I see you and this is how
I remember.

You can stare
I don't care
You can jeer
I don't hear.
I'm on the inside,
the track
where I ride out
the pitfalls and catcalls.
The **** crows and
he knows
what time means, and will be,
meanwhile
all that you do is
stare,
stare at me,
I don't care.

I had to think twice about thinking twice which was twice the work for an old work horse and
if nature truly runs its course then of course it must be true that pondering on the imponderables is a noble thing to do.

You and I know
that to go around in circles is a total waste of time
but we do it all the time which wastes more time and not being one for waste or time I found it easier to go in a straight line,
not a flat line because that's something different.

Any dimension you like is the dimension that does it for me.

Space
lots of it even in the little bit of what I see and what is a galaxy anyway?
just another chocolate like the milky way or Mars bar which is not too far off the mark,
in an inn in the dark and so am I, where
a pint of beer and a pie is my cup of tea
(sounds a bit Alice to me)
confused?
I always was.

If you had to think twice every time that you thought
I'd think twice about thinking at all

Time allots me
tiredness knots me
and
only the consequence stops me
from throwing in the towel
and so early in the day
I wonder
if the day will end this way,
if time allots me
and conscience stops me
and tiredness takes
me away.

..and so
I came through the inaction of incredible addiction,
full of facts, which though a fiction
became a part of the truth
what next?
The new found sobriety vexed me,
activity eluded me,
included in,
I felt left out, understanding
what this was about took some time.

In the end
it was the hit and miss and
the Miss that kissed me
who made me see
what could be.

My salvation summed up in the equation
n=calculus (2)

The perimeter was limiting,
the interior more inhibiting
and the Islander lived alone,ambitions dissipated,sun dried,dessicated,he waited for the ship to come,
he lived on coconuts and *** and Wrigleys spearmint chewing gum and two tonne of cargo from the hull of the ship that nearly pulled him to his death.

He was blinded by the sun and sand,so carried lightly in one hand a parasol (made in Taiwan)
not one known to complain,he found it hard to explain to his companion,
a turtle he'd named Marion,in honour of his life and his poor departed wife
just how he felt,
but he knelt before the sea creature,which, though he didn't know it then
would feature in a hot cooked stew somewhere in the distant future.

Sad to tell that the Islander spent eighteen years on his Island hell and went quite insane
thought the sand was rain and bathed in it twice weekly
leaking fluids from his skull he swam out to the rotting hull and danced a jig on the ancient deck,
both man and wreck sank deep below where only sharks and shellfish go and the sea ****** both to their sad demise.

No stone marks the resting place,no words remark on who lies there,but the Island stares out to the sea and knows the turtle was eaten for tea
and Islands never forget.

Walking in crowds ,it's like I'm walking through glue and half of them texting on mobiles,it's vexing.
Some solvent will solve it,dissolve them away,
I should have thought of it earlier
but it's been a hell of a day.

Where do they come from,why don't they go and why don't they move,that's what I want to know?they're in Primark and Tesco and eating alfresco,(MacDonalds of course)how coarse can one get?

I should be a reclusive find people elusive and that is my dream until then I shall scream at them,Ladies and Gentlemen clear me a path,I don't want to bath with you just want to pass by you,
just like I'm walking through glue.

Android is bipolar and the polaroid is paranoid, I'm paralysed by all the lies and your dinner's in the fridge.

I'm cracking through the middle and the edges fray away and I'm loving every minute when will Auntie come to stay?

The treatment doesn't work and I wonder why they try, perhaps they'll give me some more capsules and I'll float off, getting high on all the fumes.

I love it and abhor it, want to **** it or adore it but can't make my mind a slave to the thing I want to ******, you can save me from the sermon of Mr Luther King the German though I knew he knows it all,
I just like to bang my head against the wall to make some sense, yet all is chaos.

Android's just the scam because the man is very shy and he hides inside his metal shell to watch the world go by and bipolar's a tombola, get a ticket win the prize, but still paralysed by all the lies, your dinner's in the fridge.

There is nothing but the chimes to remind me, a clock face full of good times of sad sometimes not times, but the chimes hold no memory, they all ring inside me like a dishcloth wrung dry and only the damping of tears reminds me again of the how and the why and the crying out of fears, so many things in one boat.

Nothing but the dull throb hung on my chest like a watch fob and the chime, the chimes, cutting into and out of the day, no time and time's no friend until the echo of time starts to end and the chimes fade away.

And then we wind up the spring and step into beginning again, we are the hands on the clock face keeping pace with the clock and time is the lock that we open then lock and the chimes are the stock in trade.

in the interval
when the ice cream lady
came
we bought
Kia Ora
and a box
of Poppets

I put my arm around her shoulders
she said,
it's not that cold,
I was hot
chewing poppets
and when the movie started
I tried to kiss her
but
only once,
she told me
that she'd tell and
I would go to hell for it.

Her name was Jacinta and
we were at the Odeon
the Odeon's gone now
and
Jacinta married
Bob Shriver who
drove for Amoco

I remember her though
very well.

Train me
restrain me
use me up and drain me
then chain me to your heart.
Come my darling let us start
the music
one more time.

The stars were stitched into sparkling quilts by the hands of the one unseen
and the Earth was tilted on its axis so that everyone could dream.

While the dream may end in a cul de sac
we can go back and
dream again.

Every orbit is within us
and a universe inside, but
the whole human race is just a
pimple on the face of the one
who designed the ride.

It's about anatomy.

You might think,
  
An atom, me?

But that's not what I said.

Astronomy is nothing to do with food
nor gastronomy
stars.

We have. sat together in too many taverns and isms to get tangled up in the anatomical caves and the caverns within 'em.

At sixteen I was rampant and now I'm almost dormant.

A Zimmer frame by any other name
is as heaven knows not only not a rose it's not a babe magnet either.

I am driven by demons that hole up inside me, the joke that they see is me, but there are saints sent to guide me
while the Vatican city sleeps.

The time in point and space where it is alleged that we stand
is like some foreign land that only travellers know
but that place in space
moved on a million years ago
and we are no longer there
should we care?

In the endless magnitude of stars,planets and comets,meteors and quasars
nothing is still.
Everything moves to some greater will
until the place that we knew becomes just one in the queue
of discoveries we make and friendships we renew.

When this became clear to me
problems so near to me
dissolved.

The all is much greater than me
I see
the circle defined
in degrees of my mind.

Another universe expands into more foreign lands
which we travel beside
ride trails astride of it
we've laughed till we cried with the joy of it
and understood not a bit of it.

In aeons of atoms
we have merged and we have parted
started and ended
defended our right
to look into the wonder of night
and
Dream.

Well,
what a surprise
when you open your eyes and
the whole of the
weekend
lies there before you
and, before time starts to ride
you're into your stride
and out gallivanting.

They told me in all honesty,
"you're a flying carpet"
and still they walked all over me.

I'd do the job for nothing if respect was what it gave,
but it seems to me Aladdin wants nothing
more
than for me to be a slave.

It feels like jellied eels out there
cold and wet and slippery
I think I'll put my slippers on
and watch catch up
on the TV.

But I've got to go out in the snow
fodder for the cannon
going on and on to a thousand
variations of at least four different
seasons in a day.

I know it's summer somewhere where
the Winter's left behind and its up to me
to find it, but at times this man's so blind.

If 'open sesame' won't do
and the bell don't seem to ring
I'll use a stick of dynamite
and blow the door right in.

It's a Sunday,
they say
let us kneel and pray
to some greater God
who's left the World in such a mess
I think that rather odd
anyway,
I get down on my knees
ask for forgiveness
pretty
please.


A chess game and they congregate
make their moves
until they reach
a stalemate

sixty seconds on the clock
the gun is cocked
the casbah's rocked
the door's still locked
I light the fuse.

This lobotomy turns out to be not such a shock to me after all, I fall and I rise, sleep in my eyes, but the days work is done even though a new day has begun. This lobotomy, this excuse for me is going home — travelling to Stratford, London Borough of Newham from Tottenham Court Road London Underground Station.

The counter spins again
you win again
or lose,
you choose again,
complain
the number's just the same and
who's to blame?
Lady luck will tuck you up
give you promise
give you hope
then let you swing
hung by a rope.
We keep on spinning anyway
some say the counter's cursed or blessed,
it stops and comes to rest on
double zero.

The wheel must spin
the fat become the thin,the rich take on the poor man's garb,the gossip monger feels the barb of their own tongue.
It is done,
the wheel stops,
thirty on the red and all who have too much are being bled of what they do not need,those in hunger feed and those who want shall want no more.
All this written down in chapter twenty four of some great book which I never took the time to read,
when upon a tireless time,I thought it was the action, not the deed that mattered most and to boast of such accomplishments that meant the world to me was in effect a greater heresy.

The wheel will spin for it is writ that everyone
deserves a bit of happiness.

As Jackie leans against the *****
beside the grave that's he's just dug
he digs up another 'makings'
and with bony hands still shaking
as if his very life depended
on the Virginia flake expended
into his heaving fragile lungs,
He starts to cough
he starts to heave
he doesn't have time to believe
that it's self harm
that he's doing.

As the spasms calm
he takes another pull
and when his lungs are full
he quite deliberately
exhales the smoke,
discounts the words I spoke
about the damage done
and rolls another one.

But in the swirlings of the nicotine in a scene
from some rocky horror show
his lungs forget to **** and blow
and his poor old heart
just seems to know
it's time to stop and
go.

Someone else leans on a *****
surveys the lovely job he's made
of his predecessors grave
and thanks his God he got the job
and that Jackie Bleasedale
smoked.

Were we that time in a place
Or the place in that time?
Whatever the answer
I guess that it's fine.

But I can never decide
Lord knows how I've tried.
Sat up in the loneliness in the long distance of night
Wondering if one was wrong
Or the other one right.

And at the end of it
I made no sense of it.
In time and place where the staggering minutes will stand up and face you
Look through you, and to you it comes as a shock then
to realise the clock when
it strikes
does not make a mark in the dark where you lay.
Stay there
Stay where the light disappears
and it will never be said that the tears you once shed were seen,but just wasted.

No one can see you when time looks right through you
like the deadbeat
where the day meets his night.
Does time or his place in his time seem alright
Does he run through the legends he's heard
Believe he has shared in that wealth
Does he have good health?

In some life where there's time and the place
in case we should also fall flat on our face
and struggle to rise.
I look into my own eyes and what do I see?
A man that could be, and once was, a man just like me.

Tears will not help,cry if you please
get down on your knees and pray.
In the time and the place of today
we have got to do more than we say.

Stay silent and die
Do not hear the cry
Lie to yourself and say it's okay
Just another today.

What came after before the laughter,
before the laughter came?
a conundrum
a game I like to play, to while away the
hours of each day.

The answer hides
some place deep inside where
the tear drops give a display,
deep in the well
where the heartbreaks dwell and
the night never turns into day.

In the dark and damp a lonely *****,
I see that the lonely *****
could be me.
But it's a game, a game
before the laughter came and
after that I have tea.

Going to fix up my homes under the sycamore tree
going camping
tent tramping
and all I will see are the whirlygigs that helicopter
propped up in my sleeping bag
watching the canvas sag
like life
it's an awful drag and I am gone
camping.

'Oh my giddy aunt' whose name was Matilda,
once met the Kaiser,
by the side of the Danube.
No proof,
no Youtube but I believed her and Herr Kaiser had a little thing going by the river flowing out to the sea.
Which does not help me under the sycamore tree and the more that I see the less I'm intent on staying in a tent with a roof that is sagging,
I'm dragging my **** outa here
and you guessed it
,no proof
no Youtube
the truth.

There are stripes on my T-shirt
oh **** me
it won't hurt
or shoot me and that's
what I wrote.

On a slow boat to somewhere,
but definitely not China
I wine and I dine her
but she doesn't care.

In the left luggage office,
the officer greets me and
at
the old railway station
she wants to meet me head on,
but too late
I am gone.

I am gone now
and
somehow
still here

Commercial poverty
an empty property?
there's money in muck or
so they say.

Vacant faces say it all no need for writing on the wall
and who could read it anyway.
Education in the pay of politicians.
They dumb us down to line us up to knock us down,
intelligence is frowned upon and yet
we get back up and carry on.

Fodder for the factory,
the workhouse is a house when all is said and done.
I see no ships
I see no Sun,
blinded on the run and some place far away from the refuse tips and folderol  I'll find a place to stay and sit to read a book and take some time to take a look at what things really look like.

I dream, I dream and morphine seems to take the pain away,
the poppy fields are my armour,
the shields against the clamours of
the day.
If I could,
I would and should awake but that takes moral fibre,
and I am just the turpitude, the crude and base, no shame,
and furthermore, I can't face the accusing looks, or
the debits in my credit books.

I dream, I dream and lean towards the light that
shines from the opthalmoscope,
there is no hope I hear them say,
more clamour in the clamour of my day,
more morphine takes the pain away.

I dream to dream and dreams dreams me,
dreams will be my
downfall.