Your Instagram tinted daydream solo self-help projects
are naught compared to the many faces of my Ketamine addled
multi-faceted bed-ridden wasted ****** aesthetic
Bring me my poppers while I can smell them
or get off my ******* rocket ship
These are the bed sores of regret
tinged in tingly jingle-jangle garage rock twattish twee twaddle
Smoke my tea drink my plants, Kratom of the smack recovery
cat come cat-call **** all to be done
the ladders lead to the plateau that the Meat Puppets sang about
Some say I've been away, some that I've been dead
dada said daddy in the monotone voice, slippin' mickeys and mandys in the drinks of the boys and girls for spoils of war
and causalities of the political system
I hope the vote for your preferred pederast is enough to stop *******
or in fact let us turn to your queen so the monarchs can reward the patriarchs that beat the matriarchs and maybe we can sleep a little better tonight
Truth is these four walls are enough of a prison within the prison that I feel free in slavery
Words too imprison the soul, so I stopped using them
implicit in silence
explicit in message
call on your horses
kneel before the great *** of democracy
these are truly the end of days
and her natural milk shall flow through our veins
until the new dawn awakens from solemn slumber
and your faux-intellectual ******* returns to witch doctor ritual seance ******* matador squeaky clean record having gutter-troll reprobate sunshine easy listening solipsist elite country club golf retreat in the hills where you **** the carcass of the empire with your dysfunctioning penises and praise your zionist overlords that mock your ****** hospitality through gritted teeth as they push you over the edge onto the wailing crowds of peasants below where your alien bones crumble to dust and your stagnant coagulated blood oozes into the Earth where it burns like gallons of acidic chemicals and the world rejoices at the sight of fallen greed and toppled regime until the next time it happens again

Scattered myriad of burned down roaches and the stench of stale smoke in the air
Charlie Parker plays from the doomed speakers
There's a cacophony of noise in the outside sunshine breeze
and the dusk is setting
The amalgam of police siren sempiternal wailing and deep bass affection
The windows rattle as riot vans cascade, anguish
and the hooded teen bleeds out unconscious, knife wounds
Skinny framed cloud-man, arrived so sweetly this morn
and leaving dust-bowl plethora, startled screaming mother in mourn

I shift swiftly from the window sill
Fearless after forlorn grievances
Hey Taylor you have me believin'
Failed love stories, you're just teasin'

Eighteen years and I reached maturity
Listened to your ballads, felt amorous
I can't ask that you'll write me a song
I must confess, I think of you all day long

I want you to see me, white horse mounted
Rescue you from a life rebounding
I raise a hand and pray to the lord
But you're the reason for the teardrops on my keyboard

Why can't you see... me?
Are we meant to be?
I would hold your hand,
let your soul fly free.

It was a wild alto-wielding sax man, screeching with halted notes and dissonant disregard for the folks and their fortune that awoke the birds, and the unyielding flock would mask the sky as two lovers kiss on a bench with flaking paint. The shores are prevailing, the yoking eggs would seep through cracks in the counter while children squeal and leave stains on the walls. Walking through forsaken habitats and dingy rats are bastardising the progression of time and in turn, they confuse a poet as he composes the castigated texts of his forlorn memories.
It was here that piano keys shook the core of the Earth with trembling recompense, and furthermore would eventually seek to unify the tribes of long suffering lands into the rambling herd that stampede through river basins, with alphabets falling from their back pockets. Ah black sky, with your inherent displeasure and disquiet, why are you crying on me tonight? The stars are as despairing as I.
I take your hand and lead you through green-light flickering corridors, as the rats are congregating and confusing us once more. Water drops overhead and we fall into chasms of disparity, holding onto piping that scolds our waning fingers, leaving us foreboding and dumb. Numb to the illicit sirens and the implications of urban living. And your body is sullen, as the Antelope are liberated, but with woe I could feel the icy chill that radiates from you and your once heated body.
Tire tracks, hurried, and the rats find no suspect, so with wringing hands I step into the sunlight and feel the blue sky ramifications and remember your name.
Gravel track buried, the flocks would return to nest in romantic trees, and I find myself alone as the sun rescinds its gaze, placing me in darkness once more.
And the alto-man continues to sing through tubular declaration, as the steadily raging war provides rhythm to the desolate streets and I feel disconnected.

Disjointed verse, struggle
Make it worse
For myself, and the adolescent yearning
No make sense more
-Don't care
Falling apart and no thoughts are linear-
Synthetic drugs in my system
Attempt to be skinnier
Cyclical desperation coupled with anxiety
A certain destination, truly desire sobriety
In this low society, I'd be remiss if you were to read this
But these are the days I live for
These days I try more
Some days I out pour
Other days, you're a real chore
How did you even the score
Do you feel as you did before
With the same clothes strewn across the floor
Can you see the wrinkles, am I getting old
(The skies scream sadness and the clouds are just as cliche)
Time for me to repay
My dues, the greenish hues
You feel abused
For I called you twice before, and
Today I am recused
By you

"Do you have the time?"
"It's a quarter past seven"
"My house is on fire"

Wish I was Daniil
Writing absurd poetry
But I am not him

Wrote her a haiku
It was a bad idea
Did it anyway

Everything is an echo through the alleyway street in mid-afternoon
Children scream from some far away park
Dishes clatter and smash in a house, of which I do not see
Dogs bark, gravel pit succumbs
Bass raptures that rupture the ear drums of the passenger
Tyre skid, rows of flower pots damaged
Growling, forever growling the beasts on bikes
Clatter the gates, what matters these days?
ssffffFFFFAAARRRRUMPH!
Triumph race the boys in pretty cars
Coughing kids and the coffee drop pits
rup rup rowww rupp!
Tip tapping of heels on paving slabs
Most are broken and make a click clack noise
Children running, dud dud dud dud duddudududud
Careless rain lost in the crest of a cliff face
"AH O DA DOOOR!"
"NAHHH EE DID DOE"
And spluttering engines revving on tarmac-
"MUMMMEH MUMMEH MUUUUUU-"
The revving begins again, the noise never ceases
Low rumble of the wheelie bin on crooked slabs
Smell the rain as it sets and laundry as its removed from lonely lines
Hissing cars in the ******* rain
Hear music, its life's music, every word a jumble in a proletariat (e)state

In a brief moment of silence there's an ethereal chill as a shrill cry from miles away resonates to me and my tapping on the keys are deadened by the accumulative sound of reactionary ghosts.

Damask robes on the severed road, as Severin sings the boot precociously
Furs and spurs are the roots of inevitable depression, the rain in the gutter
Flows like so many streams to the town of your birth
See that scar and revel in it, for the clock that tocks is dying so eloquently
And here, I shall hold your hand and convey irrelevancy

These days seem so long
Words leave a vapid hole in my soul
Are you reading this closely,
Meaningless as it seems

Each poem like a crack of the whip, my back scarred and bloodied
Each person, in a line, taking the time to abuse my mind
and today I am freed from the ties that... keep me safe
But still bound by the ******* of a million people
Each one suffers, and I lay awake in the evening damp
Listening, still listening, to the cries of the camp

Water only runs in the house of a holy man
But the prayers of a parched child are ignored
in favour of the money man's plan
Believe in a God all you want
he won't save you

Nihilism saves valor
Believe in nothing and nothing can hurt you
Those empty symbiotic phrases of the faithless

Listen to the chimes of the ice cream van
and despair at the crimes of a suit and tie man
Crunch of steel in a midnight collision
they collude in hopes of derision

Under desk lamp ambiance, in heated rooms
13th floor apartment blocks
where the doorman knocks
where the doorman knocks

Time and crime again, and lie and try again
Paid protests in the streets
Digest your intellect, removal of a safe space
So that they might turn the power switch

The blackout comes when revenue succumbs


In your ancient catacombs, where matted bandages hang
and drip crimson onto dusty floors
Smeared where they jeered at the death of a democracy

This is the corner of civilisation, torn down and replaced with a bank

My fingertips asserting soft pressure upon the concrete allow me to feel how cold and damp my city truly is. The weather is obviously a dead give away, but to truly understand something I feel as though the tactile approach gives one a more accurate picture.
Soft fine drops of precipitation strike my hooded jacket as I pass between streetlights, phone boxes, poles with no signs and signs with no poles. The back alleys feel like home. The bohemians, students and junkies pass by adopting a familiar fixed gaze on the cold, grey ground. Nobody speaks to me, not even once. I revel in that. The pretty girls leaving the hidden college and the ugly men sat upon scaffolding, high above the city, like Gods, Angels, workers. Imagine if one just fell.
I hurry my pace past the crowd that gathered, I'm not a fan. The alley gets darker as the time ticks by and I contemplate time ticking by. Lost in transient intermittent thoughts of pasts, futures and presents of each face that solemnly passes by my own stoic masterpiece. I must get out of this drizzle before it begins to pour.
The poor man stops me once more.
I haven't got the change he needs.

It was in a dream that the bearded man came to me.
"You must come down, my son. You do not belong in the skies."
I was often paralysed by such dreams. I guess I still am.
Unable to call for help, afraid of the heights I could reach,
I'm contained by logic even in dreams.

I'm sorry I can't be what is expected. Expectations are often too high. But I still walk with my hood covering my stoic masterpiece. The sun is dead, the stars too. The crowds dispersed, the pretty girls lost their charm and the men descended from their fixtures to reveal themselves as boorish and dim-witted. A personal problem of my own. Junkies are sheltered in their boarded up flats, while the students tap away on gadgets they hate yet cannot live without. The bohemians dance and talk and sing and love.
I continue to walk softly on the coldest and dampest concrete my city has to offer. Unwilling or unable to interfere with the natural balance.
And so the drizzle turns to a downpour,
the poor man still asks for change,
I'm still unable to provide the change he needs.

She told me leave I asked her how long
To wake the leaves I walk all alone
The day is dark and the nights feels distant
Lately I've been sad for no real reason
And the lamppost sighed at the vision
Follow the white road, follow it alone
The brown road is a detour
and you're left needing more

Air in my hair, ere to be here and there
Sniffling, solemn, saddening sarcasm
and the city sleeps, a ******* paid well
With my arms outstretched and wings in my mind
Time to tell the time, time and time again I told lies
It's time that tests my altruistic timbre
The pebbled road is illusive but filled with freedom
and it shall lead you back home

The drifting dream bound on a satiated sea
It can feel you letting go, if you wanted to
Into the ether I will walk with you
Just release that grasp on reality and come
into the cosmos and we'll be unified
Abstraction at best is the offer
Pull away and become everything
Spend the night; float away and be...

Stood lonesome beneath the old floodlight
Sweetest embrace, the Gods shone down
Forging great dramas in steel slabs
and returning home with a picture of Hollywood
I, sad-eyed fool, asked after you, and heard nothing
Though, in Benzedrine dreams I was gifted your scent
and awoke to the stench of ******* *****, and the powder dissolved
Ah, I have heard your voice
Yet you ignore mine

The great whale twisted in the alley, with biceps bulging
and tussling with hoodlums we were sent packing,
Awaiting us were the sterile walls of some grande hospital
Lined with officers, their pads and pens at the ready
Beds spinning, squinting under neon, docile
and confused

Bars and bars, from one t' other, flicking roaches into the gutter as we went
and howling at the harlots stood 'neath street lights, flickering
Poisoned in body, poisoned in mind, the spirit on it's way
Brick lanes and paddy wagons, urchins and knock-a-door run
The unshaven dealers, passing poor product to the children
and they, still in uniform, bleary eyed, satchels and sandwiches
We, tied, cuffed, stranded and free

Flags! The flags were a sight, satirical and stupefying
Patriotism always made me chuckle, it being so absurd
Yet her majesty still reigns supreme, have we no shame?
Oh justifiable mockery, tainted our streets, the names we know
How can one free one's country if one is but one person,
and how could one simultaneous be one million?

But even here in this mournful cell that layeth ten feet below, I am free, I may not know it yet, but I am...

How ironic that one would take it seriously
With this new sincerity hanging so precariously
Satirical words, balanced in a peculiar fashion
Overtly reminiscent of a post-modern passion
And you, who read this, please be aware
To all other poets I simply cannot compare
Proletariat boy with too much time to spare
With this piece it's time that I declare
My mind is in a sullen state of disrepair
Always be aware, that I was never here.

Everlasting light
Sure the sunrise was beautiful
but what is beauty if it cannot be shared?
Rescinding fright
The mobbing mass bowed down
and to whom do you pledge allegiance?

Freckled henpecked nest-eggs
to the shrinking violet water chestnut teenage idol
and therein did we all see the frightened eyes
with secret stories to share

An instruction guide to the misinformed soul
of how to lower your false flags to half mast

Cover-up sweetheart, the eve is a cold and lonely one

Eternal night
A perpetuation of political ideology
what due course is this, that your people are slayed in the street?

There's a man with cuts on his arms, probably accidental, perhaps I'm wrong
There's that girl and I think she's pretty
Over there is a dog, unleashed and he's barking at ghosts
In here is my heart and it stopped for a moment
That is a field and the grass grows blue, we don't know why
(On the park is where I first got high
In the bush is where love goes to die
At the shops I told a lie)
In his house we did more ******
Through the window I see her again, so pretty
You can see my eyes, they're watering
On the blue-grass sedentary, lays her body
Regretful hands are mine
Heroine life lost
- I'm sorry.

...and the needle dangling, I fall out

Scrambled thoughts of an addict, convulsing, cursing, begging for that redemption.
The golden mistress beckons through dank alleys.
Trees and cars and man-made structures are no shield for the siren song.
Wringing hands, rubbing necks and itching forearms, I need that fix.
Blood spots on the sleeve.

Oh how my teeth cry out,
My arms plead with me,
The legs I abuse, stand rigid but ready to falter.
Feet stumble on ragged carpets,
My back arches and twists, aches and itches,
Eyes dart back and forth, are you my saviour?

Hand me the bag, there shall be no trouble
I'm too weak to escape you.
Snatching, grabbing, thrusting cash and powdered death from one ***** pair of hands to another
The trade off. I thank you my friend, until tomorrow.

Broken down, malting carpets
Stained mattress, I love you
The pealing paper and rotting stench
I love you too

My hands shake, fix me.

Oh the pleasure. Imagine if we were to erase that pain beforehand. Free me from my past. Euphoria.
.
.
.
..
...and the needle dangling, I fall out
.
.
.
..
...Scrambled thoughts of an addict, convulsing, cursing, begging for that redemption ad infinitum.

Fire questions to the sky
so many bullets rain back down
Cruelty abound by the bookstore in town
Where skagheads rob ragheads and laugh
back to broken scuttle-bug alleys and rain
the pain
I hope your age doesn't enrage you
or I hope the town doesn't become you
Burn all your Matterhorn replica symmetrical dreams
guard all bars by the backdoor sullied sweethearts
the ally of your ally is an enemy of somebody's enemy
but the enemy of that enemy is a friend of the state

Liquid LSD spilt on the raptured structures of this ***-
King city and the all encompassing simultaneous trip
is only the perception of reality we're made to endure
the title you hold is a roll of paper by the door
and we burned them all for heat when the powers that be
rolled over you and me

Don't fall down, the stairs are uneven
Haunted regrets, embodiment of liquor
Lacquered wood panels, smell of old alcohol
Guilty hands shiver on a switchblade shining

There by the door stands an old man leaning
Taunt him some more and he might start screaming
The haggard old mystic witch by the bedpost yawns
and the New Orleans bayou still shivers in a shimmering light

Tonight though, taste the tasteless tears on terrarium trellises
or tug away the tightness of the tortured terra firma tetsuo
and maybe tonight there will b-

Draping a well-worn shawl that was once a vibrant purple over his tired shoulders,
the pale skinned, grey eyed writer hunched over the battered typewriter
He knew for a second that he was indeed God
Not in any bastardised sense of the word but the truest form
He click-clacked at the keys and made words as if he were the first magician,
tricking the masses with wizardry of the most absurd kind
and preaching his word for them to follow
From the pictures of his mind he tapped away,
creating great monolithic structures and clusters of characters,
each with defined personal traits
Mere seconds before ink blotched paper they existed in no universe, and now,
now they were defined, realised and serving a purpose
God truly does love all his children
Alas we know not of who God truly is
Each group would have you believe a new story,
each sect within those groups would differentiate between themselves
and we are no more enlightened
You see, God is real but only as far as we are real

I've decided to write a novel because that's what Father John sings about
(my only reality is a vicarious one)
I shall sing the words through a pine tree, caterwauling
(social media passes for inspiration in my wilted mind)
But Kerouac's stream of conscious prose appeals too
(plans often deteriorate so freewheeling seems apt)
My biggest problem though, is my inherent inability to write anything of substance
(and my poetry leaves little to desire)
Cognitive dissonance can be a brutal *****
(my warring mind never ceases to distract me)
I'm tired of forcing words from my brain
(i'm going to lay down and read)

- From the trees, from the trees
I hear the solemn breeze
(A soft whisper, loving, sage)
Enough to bring me to my knees
It's a precious thing to have
(In this lonely age) -

Down by the river bank and the sun beats down
Glory on the ground,
Dragonflies swoop round and round
Discarded souls I found
Discarded beer cans between the lily pads
Metal scraps and petals dashed
Daughters walking with their Dads
Bikers pass, the underpass
and walking past a group of lads
I hear the traffic in a distant world
A cow from the farm talks to me
Ducks playful, swimming in a swirl
Sitting underneath the oak tree
and it's here I take the dregs of water
down my swollen throat
I watch the rippling river
I fall in,
and float,
and float

Defective synapse
broken
              relapse
In the club
turned all the way up
and nowhere to go that can be called home
Turn a *****
Dab dab draw
Break mirrors
                        /memories
Icy breath
Dicey left
The corner-boy man-child sweet-teen sensation
Reciprocation of deprecation
Juice twos ***** loose lose the news today
Break mirrors
                        /realities

The bliss of an open field, in sun drenched Midwest days
left an uneasy tension in the mind of the lonesome
and loathsome

How is it that liberty can be so provincial
or that the porous poverty line can be some kind of osmosis
of these societal bounds

What constitutes freedom, when your mind is a cage
or when every book you read is also bound
and these glassy eyes of tower blocks
blink and shudder until they break and rain down
on a whole class of people,
and the bloodied tides swell through the streets at dawn

Ebon gold dust on the meek city sky
Night calls again, another day to die
Agents in the field,
serving the shield
Ours is not to ask the question why
But to serve the master of the all seeing eye

Hazy laced days, pacing beat street
Casual demeanor, keeps me discreet
On a mission
of sedition
Characters in a play, live in conceit
Serving their secret masters of the downbeat

She stumbled onto a stack of mossy grey rocks and looked into a perfectly eye-shaped crevice in the rock formation which gave view to an absurdly apt vision of the swathing valley below, furnished with incredible glimmering foliage under a masked crimson sky that echoed thoroughly her desire to live.

She had grown obsessed with her own teeth, waking every other morning to an incessant thumping pain that rang from molar to medulla. The first thought that entered her weary mind on interim morning bleariness was one of suicide and regret. She'd stumble lackadaisically from her wrinkled bedsheets onto the hardwood splintering floor of her bedsit solipsism through a minute passage and into the molding cracked-tile bathroom, pulling the light cord and inspecting at great length the chasms appearing on four of her bottom teeth, mentally noting the size and shape until the next sultry morning pawed her crimson pillow case ravaged face awake with another dull toothache.

It was a January morning, the date was irrelevant, she woke to the sound of fighting in the neighbours' house, slamming doors and vase smashing antics on a dreary dewy morn when the sun was hiding and cars in the back alleys still bellowed smoke. Her routine went uninterrupted, moments of silence in the next rooms whilst she examined the damage of another night's superfluous drug use and alcoholic torment, she eyed the razor on shower shelf and reasoned to end her life, finally.  That ingrained image of childhood abuse lay dormant until these types of mornings and she reached toward the glimmering raz-
Knock Knock
He was at the door and she was flustered, pulling wrinkled jeans around her hourglass waist and rushing to greet the stranger. He told her to-

She was perhaps seven years old, maybe younger, and the hazy day drew closed through rain battered and silty windows in the tenement building by the murky river, the one that slunk through midnight streets like so many lonely and wrinkled old men, searching for drugs or ****** or love or money. The beige armchair with worn out padding around the armrests was creaking under the weight of her mother, the tilting wilted wine glass that stood delicately between yellowing fingertips was almost empty now and she watched as it grew ever more horizontal before leaping up to save the carpet from another stain and her behind from another beating. Her mother awoke with start and threw accusations at her, thieving little swine. The beating was instantaneous and even in aged memories was enough to resuscitate her consciousness, in enough time to see him come and go.

It was a January morning, the date was irrelevant, and she made a cup of tea as she looked out at the schoolyard distant but ahead. Waves of screaming and rambunctious playfulness swelled and entered her kitchen window (the one with a larger than acceptable crack running the length of the pane) as she washed half a sink of dishes before drifting aimlessly to the black but yellowing nicotine stained stereo, leaving water trails on the buttons as she pressed play on the CD deck and Old Blue Eyes began to sing.

She was five years old and saw her father dripping with sweat on some halcyon summer day. He lay roads by the night's chill and slept on long afternoons. By the radiant late morning rays he would fix shelves and rewire the apartment, drinking gasoline smelling liquids that bloated his inerudite head and he would take regular breaks in the bathroom, door ajar as he fixed, belt tight, breathing heavy, eye-contact with her and she cried every time. He played Sinatra and sang along, her mother would wake and he beat her again. Over and over again. Sinatra still sang, he never stopped, he never cared. Beating. Hearts were beating. She was five years old and she feigned unconscious by her mother's side until his final fix and to bed he stumbled.

The date was irrelevant, this January morning when she gave up caring and the sink of dishes went unfinished and the bedside lamp flickered and buzzed.

Smokestacks billow to the clouds and their shadows cast
The littered concrete is an eternal ream
It travels a world we believe small but actually ever so vast
A clean living world seems a distant dream
We inherit a world of pure beauty, such so it leaves us aghast
A small blue fish, swimming up stream
Meeting each current, a determined spirit, but the river it can't outlast
Global warfare on the television screen
How did we not learn from our mistakes in the not too distant past
The patriarchy is truly a vicious regime
Are we not the generation of change, why are we not amass
With a little work, I believe we can redeem
And begin to build a peaceful utopian society at long last
We then lay back,
and float downstream

This fine young brood, the native athletes have arrived
We rise, we rise!
To justify great minds and the since forgotten dreamers
Have we arrogance enough to stand, hands clasped
or are we yet more stepping stones for thought?

We tip-tap diagnostic prose on angelic keys
and work as a unit to enrich newer minds
Before we too retreat to darker corners

And I too saunter with relative pace
and catch your casual eye
Struggling to conclude its motive
and hoping to embrace the future.

The colours ran psychedelic in the drear night skies
above a ramshackle house on a country lane
He heard music from the open windows
it was meandering and opaque
Myriad drones flew from a cellar door in the backyard
and a burnt out Chevy housed a family of snakes in the front
"Understand that when you enter-"
A voice came haunted, from a tree in the yard
"... that you will be forever changed"
The door fell from it's hinge, and made no sound on the deck
Everyone was ghosts, pale eyes sunken, yet absurdly alive
Preachers and pragmatists drank beers in the bathroom
discussing Plotinus and Pleiades
Rainbow haired women ran through the walls,
wailing some transient ecstasy and crashing to the floor
eating wildflowers and berries
All eyes washed, acid dipped dreams, screams, it seems, that they were all-
"Hello my name is forgotten"
"Hello, I've forgotten your name"
"Goodbye I must be returning home now"
"Goodbye? But you're already there."

The wooden paneled walls started to peel in the August[ine] humidity
but they kept singing love songs in the kitchen
as the toast burned in the sink
Eat more kosher meat, kid
Hi my name is Doner
But what's in a name really
They squat and lunge in harmonic deviancy
Though by the statuesque running man poses, the dance-floors of hydrodynamic and hydroponic release and reconnaissance were blasted by the man of zen, but only in his third eye, the eye that saw it all

The floors started to bleed, some toxic glue
and the shoes of a tribe were lost there, nobody cared
Bloodied scepter of the soul, rapier of wit
Oh how cruel the searing whip of understanding
and falling away from reality with every dip of stick in candy coloured goo

The morning sun also rose, rosy fingered...
It's all been said before
search for answers on the bathroom floor
or muddied ground
or in the sullied unsound

It's far from profound
because when the night was over
The house was nowhere to be found

Lonely black lab on the path behind the garages I used to sell crack
Went to the shop, brought some ****, blacked out windows on a cab
spells danger backwards that's Reg Nad
So I'm looking all around me, back at the cash grab
Where old ladies clutch black bags and wear glad rags
I'm not glad lad, '*** the world looking like rag mags
with girls selling soul on corners right now
where their daddies sag lag on the track; Baghdad
where war heroes return home back to the smack
and clap traps where they get and share the clap; sad
or when little kids run to their mummies 'cross roads all alone
to their home that used to be a home but now is a dome for the dome
so food can be put on tables that rust and break and the kids get hurt
child protective services, what's worse
I'll tell you what's worse living in a hearse
or a one berth tent on this Earth where the ones in charge
discredit your worth
or better still when they ignore your very existence
so we're standing here screaming and pleading
bleeding and scheming
because there's no food in the cupboards
quit dreaming
stop the screaming
Lousy demon fiending, feeding the sea men with *****
on seashores the sea's ****** sing hee-haw the horse of remorse
hits the veins and see more the way the see-saw zig-zags
back to the black labs on lagging black paths
behind the garages I used to sell crack

Remember those days
Those ****** days?
Days and days,
she says, she says
Remember those days?
The daze for days and days
Yet we remained, we stayed
for days and days
in a daze, confused, the haze
and days and days
Each day we fade
we fade and fade.

The ****** remained
but we laid and laid.

Chronologically, the life force of upward momentum
Eratus, irrigated field leaves at the backdoor
Leaves in the mailbox
Always upward, from below, the deepest place
This may have been out of my frame of reference though
Did you see the half-mast falsehood
Up the pole, down the hole
Listen to the secret word
Monitor of the algorithm

Degradation of decadent sprawling cities,
there's a beetle trapped between a house and a hard place
Wind tunnel determination, gusts like ocean waves
Traveling on pillows of air, the heir is here
and he's insignificant
Window pane, wan to the wanderer
Oscar Wilde with a bug-brain, scanning
Feral animal skulking on street corners
- and the wind dies with me
Resting place, settled, solitude
Insect evolution
Populace, putrid, passed in the past
and language dies too

(This poem was never written)

Ek Ek Ah Ek ee ee neep nee AHHH Ek Ek KKKKKRRRR
SSSSSSSHHHHSSSSSSSSHHHSSSSSSSHHHSh

And silence falls
as the world sighs.

That sickly sweet chocolate taste is a lingering reminder
He’ll be back again tonight
Sweet-talking you out of bed
Your father, he does love you, but not the way fathers usually love their daughters
Oh honey, you’re too pretty for the other boys at school
And your mother’s in bed with your brothers giving head
Look out!
They’re alive again tonight, and you wish that everything will be alright
But you’re late again this month
And everything’s a little bit sweeter with chocolate on your lips
Better than the baby on your hips, oh put the cutter down, and bring yourself to bed
So he can “gent-early” caress, and the sounds of the street, come crawling with defeat
Through the window, like your bigger brother the other night
When his crack pipe no longer lights, it’s a habit that she gave to him
Like the deformities of your mind, and the way your mangled body squirms
Oh dear, you've fallen down again
And the kids at school all laugh
Because your shabby clothes smell like kebabs, and ****, and last night’s brown-watered bath
Watch out!
It’s dark on the streets today, when the clouds refuse to go away
So wander the estate wondering if this is how it is, if this is all there is
To be the doll tied down for everybody’s love
Dangled up above, you on the bed
Just playing dead

You tried to not enjoy it, you tried to tell your secrets
But you’re a liar and a cheat, and nobody believes the scars, or bruises on your knees
Get it together; you could leave it all one day
Like your sister did before
Only now she lives next door
With a ghetto husband of not so distant relation
And you hear him beat her when he’s drunk
And you hear him beat her when he’s sober
And you hear him beat her when she’s unconscious
And you hear him
And the whole street hears him
So you wonder if they can hear you too
Echoes through the zoo, that you call home
Monkeyed enclosure of ***** flinging beasts and your mother getting ****** on in the shower
Every hour on the hour
Because your father loves the power
Listen out! Can you hear them?
Dear reader, look outwards from the window
And see the way her winds blow, how she walks the streets so aimlessly
Dead inside her eyes, where the spirit cries out in the morning when she’s late for school
Because her father’s got whiskey **** again, and now she’s trapped underneath him
And her mother’s fast asleep on the floor

Stupor of the soul, it’s always taking hold
Cover up the sadness, or cut away the grief
Everything is different when they’re taken by police
And now you’re sat in a foster home, feeling welcome
Until Mr. Saviour creepily creaks the door
And your freeze in fear
Because you feel that your father’s here
And Mrs. Saviour is in the next room with the others

Acrid acid in the veins
                       perfect storms over rear horizons
                       She kisses trees in desolate parks
              and wanders down the city light parades
                      alone
                          Oh, yearly comes the fair
                                         or the rains
                  or that special way in which the city sleeps
               Falling diphtheritic on swollen grounds
                       and rolling around
                           doing rounds
        shooting all these fantastical clowns
                            Ah, to die
                                              ah to die

Crazy starry-eyed mannequin
Taken to the stars again
Heroic catalyst of my youth
Left us with the inevitable truth
proof of the elusively loose and uncouth

I'll see you in the sky

Resonant alley beside a block of council flats
The bass booms from a car with three doors open
Four spliffs burning under flickering street lights
The British winter rains drench our hooded heads
(We plan the heist)
Deafened by the disenfranchised rapper from the speakers
Blinded by the darkness of the car and my peers
Balaclava, hoods up, gloves on, tools out, smoke out
Jump from the whip, vexed boys, looking for a payday
We move rocks by day but night time comes, we get shady

(Gunshots ring out, the bells of death
Never forget what you did
A life on the hands of a boy
Blood on the sheets as I cry myself to sleep)

Jump back in the ride, laughing with careless disregard
Count out the stacks and divide up the product
Pull up at the dole office and smash a few windows
Sirens fly by and give them the finger
Fast enough from the scene and we're back in the yard
Waking up the kids with the banging of the doors
Waking up the fiends as we dish out the draws

(It's a war out here and your people are dying
I killed a man today and felt nothing
Breed your soldiers and look the other way
Just another careless life that we lost today)

Fall into bed with my girl and some bud
Burn it all down to keep the insomnia at bay
I tell her I need to get out the game some day
She tells me she wants a new handbag today

(The rain never ceases and the kids wake in tears
Every day on the road, is a day full of fears
There's no real reason for any of us to be here)

I touch your cheek, its stone cold to the touch
I wanna make you see, that I love you this much
We need to make this cash babe, we really have to eat
Future plans take shape, when you climb into his backseat
I really do love you girl, I promise that I really really do
In the mirror give a wee twirl, before you pay your dues
And you can pay me,
And please me,
Because I love you Hannah, and you know that its true

Talk to me Hannah, you've been silent all night
Talk to me baby, I can make you feel alright
Why are crying girl, I got you your fix
The daylight is here babe,
You don't have to turn tricks
Here sweet thing, take a hit of this
Yes young girl, now that's real bliss

Not too much now, what are you trying?

(Wake up Hannah, I think you may be dying)

There's a solitary sadness in my soul when I think of you
and him, touching you the way I should have
I happened upon your pictures on the internet and cried
because you seem happy, in a way I could never have made you
Remember the late nights, sleep deprivation, voice messages and pixels
Remember me as the boy that adored you, amorous and angst-free
I think about you still, daily, years later, after our odyssey
You lied, a lot, I understand though, of course I do
I just wish it had been me, that bore you children,
and entered into that classic institution of which I had no interest before you
Please, I hope you remember me, as I remember you, the time of day
Today I am depressed and wish you were here
Today I feel as if you know
and today I still love you.

Does he make you happy
If so I shall leave
If not I'll leave anyway, for what else can I do
When love has closed it's door, boarded the windows and turned on the sprinklers
Everyday I **** another memory of you, sacrificially
It's easy to do when you have a substance addiction
The ****** makes it easier to breathe since I no longer have you
Lonely robot, lonely boy, bruised synapse and broken spirit
Another tab will ease the pain
Another shot, one less to gain
Taping on a keyboard
Fruitlessly I came.

Come and sit with me for a while young boy
I'll tell you of the lives of the people
and how they're just a marketing ploy

Revenue is God in this new world order
(The governments profit through pain)
leave your loved ones dying at the border

Don't be indoctrinated by this mortal coil
(The capitalist beasts wait in the shadow)
given a sense of freedom and brought to the boil

For you see my child, we are already dying
(We're all suffocating from birth)
But that shan't stop thee from trying

Run home now my cherub faced angel
(Steal some bread along the way)
Take your seat and dine at the table
The corn has all been poisoned today

Hell is being drunk before eleven o'clock on a weekday morning
but the shade of some tree is solace in the summer sleeping
He left money on the side counter
so she smoked a bowl as his shadow drifted through the door frame
and she drifted too, only into the bed and back to sleep
crying in her dreams

Rhythmic reiterations and the rats are racing
Pacing, erasing, charging the crowds, bracing
Foul stench waving and vexed kids pacing
Sunshine suicide, the motives need tracing

Milk bottle crashes to the ground so final
Cyanide tears of men at the ******
Crying now, fears, the mother's semifinal
Poison in the veins, poisons tap spinal

Further step back, story needs explaining
Little boy weep as his father keeps caning
Crying over spilled milk, could it be staining
Tears of a boy, bent over, straining, maintaining
The composure in him is slowly draining

A life of campaigning, refraining and engaging,
Little boy sees sunlight painting, so illuminating
And a sunshine suicide is what he's entertaining

The transient nightfall lingers on worn clothes draped over forlorn branches and magnetic pulses pull the once ebbing forest into the singularity
The traveler astounded looks upwards as the skies sing the Earth eclectic
Possums and pretty leaves settle
the river rolls backwards
- imitation of time

Her body felt warm by the asphalt's dark light gleaming
and his body felt tired; aching bones whimper
Fizzy hollows cower, turn to you, and speak some avid gospel

Remember your immortality is limited
but tonight we fly
and fall

This is how it feels
  When the embrace of flaxen foe feeds the eternal encumbrance of esotericism
  When dark locks clamber through foggy basins, up river banks and over foliage of the forest floor
  When the name on a thousand lips is vivid yet inscrutable, how you pronounced the consonants under the bank's stale light
  When the masquerade ends and we're imprisoned in a kiss
  When the dusty moon places a celestial hand on yours, and sighs, for the night one day may never return
  When you danced naked under cherry coloured clouds and the rains beguiled the flesh of your breast

Remember to never forget
as the harsh morning sun will make amnesiacs of us all

When we were you we'd sail on great bicycles, through fields and over the car parks
Crashing down at the corner store and fumbling with change to buy sweets and crisps
The old lady, incomprehensible, would threaten as we ran, pockets bulging and laughing at the wind
Back to the skate park and we'd giggle as we caught a breath and the boys would be fighting
Ah, I remember climbing the solemn tree atop the hill, looking into yards and tearing our clothes
We'd steal shiny jewels from the wheels of cars parked on each street, and trade once we were home
Do you remember the magazines we'd read, the popular lyrics being recited 'neath a sturdy table
Waking with the dawn and lighting matches on the climbing frame, letting fire fall through the air
Dear friend the trouble we'd cause and the trouble that followed
I still see the faces as we ran from street gangs attempting theft, our mothers would never allow such things
Yet we disappointed them, and the tree was cut down by the preacher man
We'd knock every door and scatter to safety, heartily laughing at childhood innocence
Oh and hopping from garden to garden, free spirits and free from concern
I wish we were still young

But life broke us all, the town collapsed atop us and we suffocated
I remember your blonde hair in the wind and the way you smelt
And how we'd kiss as we played life in mattress houses
Now I see you about town with the boys, and you're now a boy
Hooting at the ladies and jeering as the Reds concede another goal
Your face still pretty, bright and freckled, I'm still confused
And I, jaded and alone, sit here and ruminate on life's folly
The sadness that our town bestowed upon me still weighs heavy
For the abuser still walks these streets and I still cower
As the powder takes another victim, more battered faces
I curse the poverty and all it brings.

How empty the feeling
of standing under broken skies
when the moonlight beckons all those lonesome, home
Or how the baggies breach branches on the oak trees
on a park before town
where empty beer cans swivel in brilliant winds
and kids dare not go
for the guns come out in droves
- firing squad of the soul

The rusted pylons
the endless rain
the drifting soils
spoils of war
spoiled, spoilt
remember the illuminating fear
soldiers of war


Baby laid flat unbreathing
pillow cases ajar by the splintered doors
eye sore, the sadness in your I's
when the plane touched down and you knew I was home
where the wind blew gales
over all these fields
and the way you thought of them,
brought tears to my eyes
or just because I was thinking of our child
- who died


My deer lay down, right here
this time
its different
this time it ends


Stray bullets with names etched out
it didn't matter, the importance of the target
green grass turned red
should have been safe until the end
lowered now into a manifest grave

Now the moment had come
now the songs had been sung
now the dirt it is ground fine
and so now is the time


- He who watched them descend
will be here to the end.