Hanging close to the edge of nowhere
Suspended by a thread like human hair
Is our grasp on sanity
And there are times when
A breeze of disruption
Disturbs and distresses
This delicate suspension
And our grasp on sanity

It would be wise for us to always be aware
Of that thread as thin as a human hair
Because a breeze of disruption
Could became the blast of a storm
Our reason will spin and fly
Before snapping the thread altogether
And our grasp on sanity

                                         By Phil Roberts

My friends abroad think I'm peculiarly English
My English friends think I'm peculiarly northern
My northern friends just think I'm peculiar
But at least I've got friends

                                                     By Phil Roberts

My blood ran hot and fast
And my lungs were still full bore
With limbs as supple as water
And joints that never ached
My body could be relied upon
For the rigours of life and more
I had muscles that were hard
And other things as well
I could see without wearing glasses
And the mills hadn't ruined my ears
Throughout those happy years
It never occurred to me
That it wouldn't stay that way

                          By Phil Roberts

Come softly, stranger
Step inside the light
Here is home of a sort
Here is nowhere else to go

Such staggering ambiguity
Such all-consuming cruelty
I see it all so clearly now
Wide-eyed and unheeding
Unaware of double-dealing
I was an innocent
And then I was born
Wise to the lies of the womb
And with a grudge for being disturbed

                                           By Phil Roberts

Every long and lonely day
She is seen in her greyness
And beautiful honesty
For she has no wit to lie
Her age and her nervousness
Make her obviously vulnerable
As she worries in her doorway
And so it goes

A stranger approaches
He looks safe enough
Yes, safe enough
She asks the usual question
"Can you tell me what day it is, please?"
Surprised amusement in his eyes
"It's Saturday, love"
"Saturday. Thank you very much"
And so it follows

Saturday
I know that
I only ask for something to say
I'd have no-one to talk to if I didn't
Saturday
I know that
No-one came again today
Oh they must think I'm such a fool
Asking what day it is
But they can see I'm old
Saturday
Yes, I'm old
I can't remember how old
Too old, too old
Oh dear, what day did he say it was?
Was it Saturday?
Yes, that's right
Saturday
No-one came again today
No-one ever comes
I'll die alone and no-one will know
I could lie dead for days
No-one will know for days
Days and days
The days go so slowly
Or is it quickly
I wonder what day it is
Oh dear, I've forgotten again
I'll have to ask someone
They'll think I'm such a fool
Still, they can see I'm very old
"Excuse me, can you tell me what day it is, please?"

                                         By Phil Roberts

Stay the moon
Cloudless and glowing
In her naked splendour
With her silver-white light
Cutting shadows
With sudden edges
Sharp enough to shave a man's face
Let her alien ambience
And constant strangeness
Reshape perception

And how stars sparkle
Heavenly diamonds on velvet night
So very many to see
And more beyond numbers
That our eyes will never see
And every moving star
Holds it's clutch of planets
An uncountable number
Of unheard stories

                                    By Phil Roberts

There are no Apaches
With flaming arrows and piebald ponies
There are no writhing jungles round here
There are no lost temples
Hiding untold treasures
There are no damsels to be rescued
By a knight on a white charger
There are no pirates on the high seas
No skull and crossbones flying
Above a deck bristling and glistening
With cutlasses and flintlocks ready
And hook hands and black eye-patches
In the sunlight of the Spanish Maine
There are no interplanetary wars
With hand-held laser guns
And weird creatures from strange worlds
They just do not exist
I learned this when
I was very very young
And I really wanted to be a pirate

                                    By Phil Roberts

Dark again
Darker than
Colourless sounds
From ceiling to walls
Always
Strange doors
Like gaping mouths
Dragging tears
Cracking open
Screams of silence

A day or night
Then comes the light
At long weary last
Ended future
Useless past
Nothing holds
Narrow roads
Damaged junction
There's a time
Comes the light
Follow the light

                          By Phil Roberts

When I was still young and fresh
A million years ago
I walked on edges
Always on the edge of something
Something wild

Bright lights and long nights
Lots of laughter and music
Always music
Singing with the band
Dodging the flying glass
When fights broke out
Howling to the moon
Oh, wild indeed were we

All shadows now, alas
Visions from an addled brain
Pubs, clubs and smoky dumps
Leave no turn unstoned was the cry
More fun than fundamental
And fundamentally flawed, it was
A couple of hours sleep 'fore the day job
With eye-lids stuck together
And walking into walls
But still I wouldn't have swapped it
For all the strait laced straight faced
Wealth in the world

                                 By Phil Roberts

You stand before me like a wall
Awaiting the character of graffiti
You see me as some frozen myth
Within the solid ice of past
You see no movement
Such short and shallow vision
I am already you and more
Listen to my years
Read the maps of my scars
Why insist on fresh blood of your own?

You are not me
Nor am I less
And you don't know anymore
It's different now
You're out of touch

Have new emotions been discovered?
New hungers?
New desires?
New hatreds?
New loves?

Different containers
Same emotions

                      By Phil Roberts

Back street brawling
Gutter crawling
We did it all an'
Then did some more

                              By Phil Roberts

Shiny bricks and skeins of yellow grass
Barely perceptible colours
Hung with liquid haze
Dog **** and thunder
Heavy close and thick
Miasma
Clings to sweat
Running with drizzle
Clings to damp
Drowning the pores of the skin
Making collars clinging sticky
Rubbing and abrasive

In view of the towering flats
The greyly awaiting wait
Standing at the bus stop
Speaking quiet weather talk
In the distantly English way
So safely meaningless
This polite evasion
Ignores their damp dilemma
Soon, as they sit inside the bus
These bodies shall steam
Like cattle in a byre

Kids hang around the shops
Emptying and kicking cans
The younger ones
Run and shout manically
Their elders spit
And swear casually
All hoods and shadows
Asking adults to buy them lager
Because they can't get served at the "offie"
Rain changes nothing here

A bedroom guitar plays
Weakly electric
And the Turneresque sky
Swallows the sound whole and flat
Sophisticated trash
Crying into a cloudy breast
Shaded darkly round
Full and swollen
Grey and sodden
The distant rumbling
Tumbling closer to home

                                    By Phil Roberts

A few weeks ago
As winter drew to an uncertain end
A family of great **** attracted my attention
They would take it in turns
To fly against the windows
Not crashing into it, as some have done
Then, after a few days of this
They started sitting on the window sills
And tapping the glass with their beaks
I was amazed and dumbfounded
I'd never seen anything quite like this
And it went on for days
Anyway, there is an old bird feeder in the garden
So, we got some wild bird food
And filled it up completely
From that moment on
The birds ignored us and just fed
They're getting too **** clever
These wild and mindless creatures

                                            By Phil Roberts

The dawn has turned the dimmer up
Painting the watery sky grey
And the dew hangs everywhere
Like polished tears glinting
And an early sign of impending spring
As the birds begin their choral efforts
Later in the year they will sound like
A busy open air market
As the business of the day begins
And breakfasts are squabbled over

                                           By Phil Roberts

Magic mollocules
Shall meet and merge at midnight
Halfway between yesterday and tomorrow
Beneath a full and hungry moon
Devouring the darkness of ignorance
As it lights the way
Across the silver shimmering sea
Of dreams that we don't understand
And thus the way shall be found
When thoughts and dreams
And science and imagination
Combine without prejudice
To create our evolution
And it shall not be a physical thing
But an entity of the spirit

                                           By Phil Roberts

When I was very young
Certainly pre-school age
I had a little tricycle which I loved
One day
I decided that I could ride it down steps
I was wrong
"Whaaaaaah! Me 'air 'urts!"
"He's banged his head. You're alright
You're not bleeding so shut up skriking."

A day or two later on the same tricycle
Tearing down the hill opposite our house
In the middle of the road
It was a time when cars were rare on council estates
Indeed, ice-cream men rode push-bikes
With big ice boxes on the front containing his wares
And there was one on the road
Of course, I managed to hit it
"Whaaaaaaaa!!!"
"There there, yer alright, lad. Have a free ice-cream."
"Whaaaa - oh, ok."

My parents kept the front gate closed after that
I wasn't tall enough to reach the latch
They wouldn't let me ride my tricycle
Unless there was an adult present
So now that I was safe
I promptly fell over the dog and banged my head on the gate
"Whaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!"

                                   By Phil Roberts

My pal Pete had this cousin
Who was always known as ****
He had earned this name at school
Because he was always prodding his friends
For the answers to teacher's questions

Now **** was a likeable and friendly guy
But, alas, the police knew him well
He had a penchant for breaking and entry
Not peoples homes, thankfully
His thing was robbing garages
Tires, spares, cash or anything else
Whenever a garage was *******
**** was the first port of call

Anyway, on this day I'm thinking of
Pete and me were chatting to ****
Just casually shooting the breeze
As you do on a sunny Saturday
And a cop car crawled past us
A passer-by spoke up cheerfully
"Eyup, ****! Yer cab's here!"

                                          By Phil Roberts

I know someone very honest
Who lies to her self

                                      By Phil Roberts

I do not speak in sombre tones
Not for me the gentle echo
Hushing through hallowed halls
I shall growl my way to the grave
Be ****** to the insignificant
And to hell with the indifferent
There are no rules or rulers
There are only fools and foolers

I need no-one else's straight lines
I have imagination enough to swerve
And spite enough to spin
Snapping snarling and seditious
Spitting venomous and vicious
Flamed by the world's injustice
And humanity's indifference
Not until I am dead burned and scattered
Shall I rest assured

                                By Phil Roberts

Things get broken
Hearts
Minds
It's no-one's fault
It never is
Not really
Butter fingers and distraction
Without malice or forethought
Things
Like hearts and minds
Slip
And shatter on hard contact with reality

                                       By Phil Roberts

Pete and me had this mate called Charlie
He lived in Manchester
And he was a rogue
Whenever we called on him
He'd rub his hands and say
"What can I sell ya, boys?"

Once when we went and
He opened a large drawer
It was full of gold and silver rings
All types and all sizes
He opened the drawer beneath that
And it was full of ****** and vibrators
I kid you not
But this was Charlie

Another time we went he said to Pete
" I've got some leather jeans'll fit you,"
So Pete tried them on and they fit
In a way
This was in the days before stretch fabrics
And what Charlie didn't mention was
These were womens' jeans
So Pete looked at me and said
"What d'you think?"
I tried not to laugh but failed
"They look like leather jodhpurs!
"You look like an equestrian hell's angel!"

So that was Charlie
The last I heard
Bad people were looking for him
As well as the local cops
It's lucky that he was "fast" Charlie
I often wonder what happened to him
But the truth is, one way or another
He's probably dead Charlie by now

                                    By Phil Roberts

He rolled up yesterday
Out of nowhere
As always
My old friend and me
Sharing news of families
And where he's living now
With a million memories between us
We laughed about the past
Gossiped about the present
Who's with who these days
Why when and where
Gigs and music
As always
But we never mentioned the future
We rarely do these days

                                        By Phil Roberts

I know that there have been times,
down the bruised and misread years,
when I have been hard and cold.
Perhaps even seeming to be cruel
But, please remember who I am
And where it is I've come from.
Born to gossip and scandal
and raised in the family war zone,
trust and tenderness, at times,
seem illusory to me.
Unknowable.
Like smoke in my hands.
But I still try.

                                  By Phil Roberts

No-one knows how bad it was
And nobody knows how good
I wear my smile with bright abandon
Like the days of happy hedonism
But most of my scars are kept out of sight
Too ugly and too brutal to show
They're no-one's business but mine
The lines on my face
Are my long service medals
I never expected so many
Years or medals

                                    By Phil Roberts

Suddenly the humble
There is one eye again
Smears
Smoothly down and quick
Spaced
The silent teeth
Graveyard slabs
All scared to white
Bright full-moon night
Glaring like a naked bone
Water taps and drips
Shaped so perfectly cold
This bleakest of light
Casting long and sharp and deep
The wailing pathetic
Are silver shards of shapes
The graveyard owl screeches
This must be someone's dream

Nowhere to go
Still strong currents pull
The places of despair
Towards and away
The tonality of moods
Warming layers
Blending with the background
It's nobody's business

A sigh that trembles
Lives balancing on whims
And then a silver-grey sky
Soaring on a song
The grace of an artless child
Smiles your eyes to smiles
The crystal tumbling stream
hallucinations of diamond water
The endless beginning
Sliding on rolling moments
Changing even truth
Even truth

                By Phil Roberts

Yet again the rain.
Once again
washing the colour from the day.
Wet and liquid grey
clouds  obliterating the sun,
preventing full daylight from
reaching this streaming place.
Until, an early dreary evening
when, with curtains closed
drum-rolls against the window
as passing flurries of wind
throw volleys at the glass
here where the rain lives.

                                       By Phil Roberts

The priest puts his trust
In martyrs and miracles
Clutching his rosary and his celibacy
To his bursting breast
And humanity walks
Through a series of cages
Every day

The ***** puts her trust
In bordellos and bodies
Clutching her money and her condoms
To her brassy breast
And humanity walks
Through a series of cages
Every day

The lawyer puts his trust
In regulations and rules
Clutching his charters and his decrees
To his dusty breast
And humanity walks
Through a series of cages
Every day

We each put our trust
In roles and rituals
Clutching convention and convenience
To our timid *******
So humanity continues to walk
Through a series of self-made cages
Every day

                 By Phil Roberts

A spider crawling down my wall
Met me crawling up

                                 By Phil Roberts

Those who are expecting
A metaphor for life here
It isn't

This is about the slides we made as kids
One of our winter sports
When the snow was on the ground
We would pick a place
And tread it down over and over
Until it was compacted and hard
Then we would slide and shuffle our feet on it
Until it became shiny and slippy
Then we would slide on it
until it became longer and glassy
By then it was a proper slide
And you could charge other kids
Usually marbles or conkers
To use your slide for a while
Capitalism starts young

So one day I was up and out early
Working diligently on a wonderful slide
And it positively gleamed in the morning sun
But I had made an unfortunate error
My slide was on the public footpath
Right outside our front gate
And along came Mrs Cooper
Naturally, the inevitable happened
It was, after all, a very good slide
Some might say.....lethal

Well, her shopping bag flew into the air
Closely followed by her feet
I don't remember much about Mrs Cooper
But I do recall that she was rather rotund
And wore enormous pink bloomers
Which in itself was rather scary
Obviously, I tried to help her up
But her weight took us both back down
She shouldn't have used language like that
In front of a kid my age

You won't be surprised to read
That I suffered the consequences
I'll bet my **** was sorer than hers
And I was made to pour salt
All over my beautiful slide

                                     By Phil Roberts

Will you call me in the winter
When I need someone around?
The nights are so long and cold
And the days have nothing to offer

I never thought that I'd grow old
Nor vulnerable on the streets
There were places I used to go
Now I'd be robbed and left for dead

Now as my old heart tires
And my legs grow weak and stiff
I can't be bothered with another winter
So why don't you call me then?

                                             By Phil Roberts

I turn my face to the light
But the low winter sun
Is shrouded in unmoving clouds
Offering no warmth at all
The trees are stark and naked
Like jagged skeletons
With ragged crows hovering
And the world is breathless

For this winter
This of all winters
The air is crowded and heavy
With the ghosts of the painful dead
Their accusing eyes searching
For those whose negligence
In the blast of a plague
Caused their breathless deaths

                                         By Phil Roberts

Been lost so long it feels like home
Been high so long it feels like down
But that's alright
Yea, it's okay
Down here
We all live this way

I steal and I rob for the things I've got
Until they're stolen from me
Mostly I rob to pay for dope
A piece of oblivion in place of hope
But that's alright
Man, it's okay
We live and die this way

I'm losing my teeth
And my lips are cracked
My face looks as though
It's made of wax
I'm thin enough to walk through walls
And I can't ever remember walking tall
Still, it's alright
yea, it's okay
It'll always be this way

                                      By Phil Roberts

Wreckage
Slow-motion blood
Aging carcass
Pain strewn
All well earned
No station missed
Time sodden gift
Rumour laden
Balancing the edge
Twisting the knife
Flashing backwards
Fun on the run
Stand and Fight
Following the way
Way of the wayward
Aimed at the graveyard
Hammered to hardness
Til nothing breaks
Still grinning

                      By Phil Roberts

In the old part of town
There are still cobbled streets
And at one time
These streets were surrounded
By living working mills
Marking the towns heartbeat
Twenty-four hours a day
Seven days a week
The machines hammered the air
As the flying shuttles were cracked
From side to side of the weft
On more than a hundred looms
It sounded like a battlefield
And some would say it was

But that was long ago
And now the mills are dead
The buildings still stand
But inside they are broken
Housing many more
Modern endeavours
And in one of these old buildings
Within the same crusty bricks
There's another world that lives
In the dark hours at least
There's a night club that throbs
To the sound of bands playing
Different rhythms for the town
And the neon lights outside
Shine on the same old cobble stones

                                        By Phil Roberts

The dawn has turned the dimmer up
Painting the watery sky grey
And the dew hangs everywhere
Like polished tears glinting
And an early sign of impending spring
As the birds begin their choral efforts
Later in the year they will sound like
A busy open air market
As the business of the day begins
And breakfasts are squabbled over

                                           By Phil Roberts

I've had fun on your streets
Been nursed in your hospitals
City of heart and strength
I'm proud to know you
Love ya mate

                           By Phil Roberts

When I was still young and fresh
A million years ago
I walked on edges
Always on the edge of something
Something wild

Bright lights and long nights
Lots of laughter and music
Always music
Singing with the band
Dodging the flying glass
When fights broke out
Howling to the moon
Oh, wild indeed were we

All shadows now, alas
Visions from an addled brain
Pubs, clubs and smoky dumps
Leave no turn unstoned was the cry
More fun than fundamental
And fundamentally flawed, it was
A couple of hours sleep 'fore the day job
With eye-lids stuck together
And walking into walls
But still I wouldn't have swapped it
For all the strait laced straight faced
Wealth in the world

                                 By Phil Roberts

Did you take your soul to a land
Where those with hope do not linger
And apprenticeships have been served
With cuts and broken fingers

Oh these days of hardships swell
Cries the mother with howling baby
Who would care and who would dare
To risk their spare change lately

And now you walk on broken stones
With your feet wrapped in newspapers
But they say it's alternative news
Perhaps you'll learn the truth later

So is this the place your soul should be
In this land of hate and anger
Where you would place your fragile fate
In the hands of a stranger

He may be God he may be not
He could be a fallen angel
In this land of decay and rot
Who would trust a stranger

                                           By Phil Roberts

He bursts in through the door
Most would have opened it first
But they're all the same
These radical fundamentalists
Standing alone and angry
Like blistered thumbs

Each sulphurous quotation
Boomed with idiotic solemnity
And such slobbering enthusiasm
Such glassy eyed acceptance
For every steaming edict

He insistently invades you
Because he needs to persuade you
And he longs so much to save you
Poking prodding and nagging
Pulpit punching and finger wagging
'Till your will to live is sagging

"I know and you don't !
I'm right and you're wrong !
You have to listen to me !
I am the man with a plan !
When others can't, I can ! "

So, I ponder this man with interest
His certainty speaks loud and clear
It speaks of making dreams reality
And delusional hopes that really can be
But most of all it speaks to me
Of an utter pile of ****

                  By Phil Roberts

Narcosis wafts on the air
Pollinating the senses
Spreading dust on the years
Softening corners and edges
Disguising shapes
Until there is no point anymore
Nothing clear to be seen
But something pierced the skin

Wrecked witless and reckless
I have walked here all my days
In this land of rant and cant
Home of the brave and me
And I, the sentimental fool
Would keep the dream alive
Of gentle Wodehouse summers
And a myth of Christmas snow
Victorian values

Daylight is brighter here
So bright it laughs for joy
Dapple-dancing and doting
With no thought of cloud or rain
Not one word of unpleasant truth
No hint of hypocrisy
Here in Narcosis England
Everything is fine

                            By Phil Roberts

Edges of shadows
In the corners of eyes
Too fast to see

Is it true
What you see
Is it me
Is it real
You do not hear my voice
Or know the colour of my eyes
You would not know me in the street

And yet
You have seen my soul in words
Those who care to look
Can know my story
My frailties
My vulnerabilities

The curse and the gift
Of poetry


                                By Phil Robrts

Never ordinary
Never easy
Nothing parts the sea
Nothing moves the earth
This is a hard world
And there is no give at all

Don't press your face to the ground
It does not help
Don't shout at the sky
It does not hear
Nothing helps
And no-one hears
This is desolation

In the wavering distance
Less than light
Reality  drifts eerily by
There is no need to go
No reason to stay
Grey coiling wraiths
Rise and slowly sway
They could be anything
Anyone
Distinctions have no place
Nowhere to hide
Here is where souls shudder
And shatter


                                    By Phil Roberts

Misty words billow in the cold
Pluming from their mouths
Quiet swearing and first *** coughing
They walk close to hedgerows
Kicking the dew from the grass
As birds squabble over breakfast
And mushrooms are still socialising
They whistle the dogs to heel
All panting and wagging tails
Stirring the dawn damp air
For happy is the early dog
In these sumptuous fields

Now the business of dawn begins
Low sharp commands are uttered
Bringing the younger bounding learners
To a proper sense of purpose
And that high-toned cross breed
The sleek and swift lurcher
Is eternally proud and primed
This long-sprint racer
Takes inevitable chase
Without sentiment or concious cruelty
An ancient craft is practised here
With the dogs at dawn

                                By Phil Roberts

I dreamed that I knew you
But that was only a dream

I once met a man
In a pub full of gangstas and dealers
And fools like me
Who thrived on the adrenaline and the anarchy
This young man returned my buddy's keys
Not the place to leave them on the bar
So we got talking, as you would
And this young black guy was impressive
He was obviously intelligent and articulate
As straight forward and easy going
As the place allowed
We got on pretty well
Saw each other and said hi a few times
Chatted at the bar occasionally
Then I didn't see him for a while
Until I saw his picture in the papers
He had shot and killed a man
For machete-ing his younger brother
It just goes to show
We never really know

                             By Phil Roberts

I knew he was dying
I thought maybe a few weeks left
So still and so quiet
This man whose laugh made us all laugh
The man who always had ideas
Where to go, what to do for a laugh
Always a laugh
Sharer of adventures
Partner in crime
For thirty-six crazy years
Dying before my eyes and
Taking much of my life with him

He'd had a massive stroke a year earlier
They said he'd die then
But he defied them and recovered a lot
Proper conversations and learning to walk
Then they discovered that he had cancer
And here we were five weeks later
"How long are you gonna be in here?" I asked
He turned his head and looked hard at me
"I die next week," he said
As though he had an appointment

He got three days, not a week
I cried seeing him dying
But I was relieved for him when he did
Now my old friend is gone
And it's a duller world without him

                                       By Phil Roberts

I've used up the speed I used to need
Running hard at walls
All I got was blood and snot
And a large boot in the *****
But it's not over
Nothing's done
Oh no
The fight goes on

I've had knock backs from throwbacks
And been ridiculed by imbeciles
Half wits have had their say too
But eventually I'll get through
The fight goes on
On and on
Until I change their minds

                                         By Phil Roberts

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Haha!
And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!
Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the gear
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that we're middle-aged
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and my body's falling to bits
Such fun

                            By Phil Roberts

Listen more than you speak
And say less than you know
Avoid those who would drag you
Into their masochistic melodramas
Stay out of other people's battles
Until you know the reason for the war
You may find yourself on the wrong side
Far better on no side at all

Be aware of those that need you
And those that are needed by you
They may not be the same people
Though both are important to you
Choose your real friends with care
And let your enemies choose you
With equal care and some trepidation

When alone in the darkness
Watch the movements of shadows
And in the broad light of day
Watch every thing in view
Whatever you see may be good or bad
But it would be foolish to miss anything
Miss not one thing at all

                                            By Phil Roberts

My friends have known me as Fargone
For a long long time
Sometimes I'm dull
And other times I shine
But when I lose belief in something
Or someone
Then I move on and I'm gone
Fargone

                                     By Phil Roberts

Hanging close to the edge of nowhere
Suspended by a thread like human hair
Is our grasp on sanity
And there are times when
A breeze of disruption
Disturbs and distresses
This delicate suspension
And our grasp on sanity

It would be wise for us to always be aware
Of that thread as thin as a human hair
Because a breeze of disruption
Could became the blast of a storm
Our reason will spin and fly
Before snapping the thread altogether
And our grasp on sanity

                                         By Phil Roberts