You can always skip the adverts
better to be converts to reality

I deal in the facts
I do not sell
fantasy

come to me and see
the brutality of
mass media

cruising like
an oedema
black and bruised


we and only we
stand accused,
we become the abused
and get used to being so

track me on the back streets
in the bedsheets
watch me whiten
lighten
in the bio

watch them as they know you will,
still
it beats the hell out of education
init?

Impulse beats
Up, down
Hello. Greet.
Hands do what they do
What they need.
Heed greed far too often

Have I had good times?
A few
Have I made any good rhymes?
Maybe two
Do I believe in signs?
As long as you do

Where did you go
Lines I recognize
Not as my own
How did I become this thing?
This white, solemn bone
Only wanting you to sing
Clearly
Through the haze
Through the black
And the white
There would never be darkness
Without the light.

Pills and rocks
Take them to
Not feel tired anymore
....If only

Diamonds like ice
broken glass
Cut cold

Age gathers bold.
Not so pretty
When it melts;
I long for, I long for
Choosing something else

Life behind the yellow line
a falling star
a burnt out car
beside
the Purple Heart

all the time
the yellow line.

Fill in the gaps
hang onto the straps
all the time
it's the yellow line

don't park here
park over there
park anywhere
behind the yellow line.

I don't care
I've had my fill
got a prescription
for a suicide pill

to be taken in time
behind the yellow line.

Sweat's dripping

the salt is stripping me away
I may not be here tomorrow
not feeling the greatest
I sway

today
is the test of me  
this latest and best of me
and soon I'll be fine
behind
the yellow line.

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.