Nothing sticks like excrement
not superglue or wet cement

we are tarred and feathered by a concrete
nation, in
bear traps on a reservation
looking for release.

A piece of me would like to be
Oscar Wilde
a precocious child by all accounts
which all amounts to what I meant,
nothing sticks like excrement.

We are as we are and how far did we go
from the plough and the crops?

we went to the Devil and the high street shops.

Now
it's snifters and titfers and don't we look grand
a million miles from a *** and the land.

eat processed
be processed
a name tag in your ear.

'***** cat, ***** cat
where have you been?'

I've been watching the dead
being turned into bread
at 'Soylent Green'

Nothing sticks in your throat
like a button from
somebody's coat.

For good or bad I smell
like my dad
and he was a good guy.