Here's to reasons we fly
between our dreams and the sky
to the heavens above
here's to reasons we love.


In the desolation of a bankrupt nation where the hard pressed, distressed, the poorer and depressed in a state of denial put Jesus on trial

I read a story that was written about the time god had smitten the wicked,

it was wicked though I suspect also untrue.

Why would a god of love do
such a thing?

We all sing out dirges
we are the victims of pogroms and purges

It wasn't just you
I suspect that might be true.



Projecting ahead
I forecast
the dying are already fed up and the dead will then try to rise up as Babylon falls.

in the priest hole behind the false wall there's a skeleton
a relic, maybe holy or that may be
hocus pocus
it's up to us
to decide

If he died did he rise?

I don't know religion like the back of my hand
don't have a grandstand view
but it could be true.

Police brutality
political chicanery, the
privateering of industry
that polarises community

Poetry
you can plainly see is ruining me along with corporation tax and mindless drone attacks,
but
I can bomb my own flat
empty magazines into my own dreams, eject the casings, reload and repeat,

I sabotage my own defences
IED's I have for tea
Nothing feels better than opening a love letter when it blows up in your face

That place is reserved

In the bunker when the fans are on, when the sound of screaming gulls are gone and the air is scrubbed before we breathe
I do believe

and that belief is based on movie reels, deals I've done with the Devil and the good lord's son,
the ruling class, the kiss my *** brigade and pharmaceutical top grade opiates.

If what is
is what is
what it is and
what it takes?

I only open my eyes when I'm sleeping and that's to watch me watching me scribbling out some poetry and

erasing my body chemistry

I can see it
if that is it.

Northern line,
Archway to the city
hope
I get there on time
for the Central line
heading East
leastways
that what it says
on the destination
marker,

most days
it's right, but
I take nothing for granted.

Sunday was my day to fly day
now it's something to try
and get by day

It's **** getting old

feels like I'm fading away
nobody sees me
my destination board
reads
out of service.

Just a blip on the radar

I'm sweeping the dial
finding the files.

Next time
no northern or central to
drive me
fukin' mental

no line next time at all.

grumble grumble
mutter mumble
coffee stumble
back upstairs

power shower
five to the hour
stubble trouble
need a shave

The mirror talks to me  
she says
'look at what you see'
I see
me in
duplicate
triplicate
quadrupled
and the glass shows every line and all the time in front, behind me and in passing where they'll find me one day glued into the wallpaper
a shape
a shadow lifting in the settings of a garden where a Rose that blooms is watching me go by.

but I'm shaved and feel quite sane now, this is how my mind can wander through the Monday morning ritual

I have bacon in the frying pan and baked beans on the plate
though I'm late and Kate can eat them, Kate's the cat and she quite likes men
I'm not sure that she likes me though I am late
so that's debatable.

I'll carve myself out of the bones of a former me,
Shave off the soft, spongy gut making my calls,
Leave a strong oak cask,
A barrel of good decisions,
Or lessons at least.
The new me, rough and cut by experience!
The sky can shape my eyes,
And the sea my heart,
Weathered like a cliff but tough like an avocado,
I'll resemble myself like a sister,
Just more me.

Green chain fence on either side
Concrete path for bikes to glide
Rapids churning far below
****** Bridge is were we'd go

Spray can pictures on its span
'Ozzy' spelt in mangled plaid
'Iron Maiden' painted red
To ****** Bridge and then to bed

Tired laughing, crying fits
Flashing censored body bits
Gladiator crayfish fights
****** Bridge on summer nights

On this bridge all kids would go
To feel the sun and swim below
Now it stands all alone
To ****** Bridge I'll always know

It's an insult to me
to be
decommissioned
tagged as
useless machinery.

I remember when
men weren't machinery men
they were supermen,
craftsmen
carpenters and
draughtsmen.

They built this Empire and
kept it going,
little knowing that they'd be
going too.

You scoff because you don't know,
you were never there at the dawn.

What do we have now?
pink poodles
Chinese and noodles
robots that know not
and what do we do?

easy

I write love
one hundred and nine times between
the lines on my face,

botox?
toxic,
someone
give me an ice pick
patch me into some voltage
and be quick.

Banner.


**** it anyway
I've had my day and seen more than
you'll ever see, look forever and you'll
see no stars and stripes,

you'll see baby wipes and feel
strangled by the star spangled,
but it's anti this or don't kiss me
goodbye
however hard that you try
you
will never see what I've been through,
up to, into,

cue violins
some Havana slims
a pitcher of gin and
let the music begin.

It's still an insult
the result is the same
I am substituted and
out of the game.

in vino
we know the
truth is there
at the bottom
of the glass and
we
don't care.

in vino
wino
watching the
grapes grow
seeing the sun
go down.

I should retire
slippers on and
sit by the fire.

I should do lots
of things, but
the siren sings
and
I am lost.

I thought I meant it,
thirty pills over three days
spaced out like the margins of
a book, double lined

shaken awake, I stir
like a cat roused from it's sleep,
stretching out the length of my body, arching my back, ready to attack

there is the needle, poking veins, collapsed veins that do not shed their blood easily, willingly

the tightness of a blood pressure band, constricting, heartbeat pulsing, ringing in my ears like titinus

the weight of near death, the long wait, internal quiet, external chaos

it breaks

no

(I didn't mean it.)