This is what comes of it, living abroad
you become used to programmes
talking about what it's like to shop
somewhere & the upkeep of capitalism

that very much has downsides
just as back home, communism had.
And now your prime minister is cutting
aid to the sick, disabled & the poor

& is almost shouting
' Arbeit macht frei'
from the Westminster rooftops
& calling in psychiatrists

to label those unwilling
to work as 'mentally ill'
e.g  one step from ' undesirable',
which is, ironically, a similar thing

to what they did back home
while an aged Lord takes drugs
with prostitutes & an MP
claims hundreds of thousands in expenses


'Arbeit mach frei' ( germ) - a **** slogan, roughly translates as ' Work gives freedom'.

My boyfriend won’t cut his horrible hair
It’s quite a horrible mess
And it gives me quite a horrible scare
This I just must horribly confess

It takes hours to wash his hair
And hours more to get it dry
He resembles a tamed grizzly bear
And he doesn’t get just why

The tangles and knots cover his face
It’s practically impossible to see
There’s a boy hidden behind the space
Between the wild hair and shrubbery

I got him a comb to manage the terror
Before the stress gave me a stroke
But when he brushed it, I realized my error
When the comb I gave him, finally broke

I tried to introduce him to family
And it was a horribly embarrassing task
The scarcely groomed anomaly
Was what everybody talked about and asked

We went to the park and as we talked
A crow swooped down low
It sat in his hair and as we walked
It laid several eggs on the go

I finally had enough of his hair
And got a brand new lawn mower
How he’d react I did not care
His bushy hair days were finally over

When the monster mower growled
How my frightened boyfriend ran
As his hair fell off he howled
But out emerged a gentleman

He can finally see his face in the mirror
But there are hills of hair in the yard
I've learned skills of a master sheep shearer
But left my poor boyfriend heartbroken and scarred

This morning I enrolled
in the Nihilist University,
but I don't believe
that I will attend.

  ~mce

I have an illustrious dream,
     want to be Leonard
          Cohen's gypsy wife,
he's kissing my lips on
    Boogie Street,
impetuously we dance
    to the end of love
       'til closing time
       midst his secret life,
he serenades me with
     I'm your man
         when we take Manhattan,
bewildered by his poetic beauty there
     waiting for the miracle to happen,
a sip of wine, a cigarette
         in love we disappear,
   here it is, you got me singing
        be that dog in heat,
I'll take this waltz and
   another please, cause
             everybody knows
     I hunger for your touch,
  his famous blue raincoat
         and the dew on my thigh
goes a thousand kisses deep
   in the cave at the tip of the lily
  with its very own breath of brandy,
slipping into the masterpiece
             where Lenny is eternal