the "concept"
of a public intellectual...
and there aren't many
houses with closet
homosexuals available?
**** me...
                   either i dig
the trenches,
      or drink some more
to make sense of these
politics...
              never aspire to
poetry if you're the son
or daughter of a professional
manual labourer,
e.g. a plumber or a roofer...
wish for a doctor
   godmother...
             and then the fetish
of falling out of a
block of flats...
   then again: tapping along
to ghost's square hammer...
or rather, the word of mouth
communication with
      the bad light's hypathia
song...
              blues meets doom
metal meets the early demise
of
             sonny clark?
            i really was the guy
who wanted
                       to own a record shop...
       MP3 though?
               big dreamer,
small ideas...
            what the hell happened to
nick hornby?!
                     kid nick...
                    same **** that happened
to the wooden schjips?
     blues meets doom
                                             metal,
i like that citation that
                                 i just made up...
at this point
             jimmy page
has nothing on me, with his
  bow-tie sado-masochism whip
later translated into faking hendrix
with: what appears
to be a guitar player faking
mastering the violin...

             because i'm all for clapping
mind you...
           but when it starts snowing
and it happens in essex,
                     i turn all cuckoo.