With the heart worn like an
old man's shoe
With the wind a last friend
of my second hand jacket
all blown and frail

I continue
to denounce the golden streets of disguised power
to trounce on hidden cops
to pounce on everything rotten in Denmark
to reek and to rage
like a rusting zoo cage
an overturned ****
a pensive white button
withering in my brain
a push cart filled with
burning accusations
I remain
street bound weary

I'm that secret little hope
gnawing at the nape
of your neck

Note: Re-written in Sofia, Bulgaria on the 14th of July 2012 after once again (after so many countless times) being followed and harassed even in front of my own house...I guess it's nice to know that some people read poetry very very attentively ;--))