He sits low,
But he rides high.
Their heads turn
When he drives by.
He won't stop
Unless you're trying
To buy,

The Man with the silver rings.

When he gets a call,
He'll drive to your house,
"Whatever you need,
A gram to an ounce,
It takes a bit longer,
If you want a pound. "

He'll bring you anything...

The party began
When his backpack arrived;
And when it was emptied,
It withered and died,
It took him one phone call,
To get resupplied,

And back on the scene of things...

The door's always open,
In case he stops by,
With Haze or Rhino
Or Widow or Thai
Sometimes he'll bring presents,
He doesn't supply,

The Man with the silver rings.

I excel
at the sport
of
fal
(in love)
ling

It wasn't your fault at all
I didn't know who to call, But
You were still in my logs

Always think of your face
An animal I couldn't tame, Yet
I know that nobody's to blame

Working on making it better
Know that it only gets better
I might never let you go
You always make me better
Help me out, under the weather
I might never let you go

I didn't know how to do it
Guess it's only true if the shoe fits
Can't we just watch a movie?

You always think I'm a player;
Got some things I ain't said yet.
Do you really want a relationship?

Working on making it better
Know that it only gets better
I might never let you go
You always make me better
Help me out, under the weather
I might never let you go

The yonder above is forever bruised and opaque
Reigning over glum faces
Complexions washed with a bloodless shade of dispassion
Robotic, disengaged.

Material desires are quenched with vast shopping centres
Credit Cards hold on for dear live
As every last drop of sweet money is rinsed from that plastic rectangle.

Living beyond our means
Whilst simultaneously refusing to give up on Sky TV box sets and liquid lunches.

Hooked to our phones, but not for telephone communication
Rather, for self validation
Defined by the click of a heart or pathetic thumb.

The once friendly communities
With blood coursing through their veins
Are husks of their previous life form, gentrified beyond recognition.

Filtered faces with protruding spines and modified features
Infiltrate mass media
Corrupting the definitions of success and beauty.

Plastic personalities reign supreme
Vacuous minded socialites profess women’s empowerment begins with the flaunting of skin
Rather than the possession of a strong mind.

Many bury their heads in the sand
Residing in ignorance
As mass genocides and civil wars manifest every second.

Or worse, they read the TORYgraph and THE ****  
Believing immigrants spawn white genocide
And white conservatives suffer oppression.

Pffft!

I have deep contempt for those behind these ***** tabloids
Murdoch and his monsters
Orchestrating lies and bile
Destroying lives or scaremongering the impressionable
Committing the most savage, sycophantic crimes
In order to extract Monday’s headline.

I do not suffer fools
Especially those who make up the tapestry of dystopia
A failing age of doom.

The less you say,
the safer you are,
the more you say.


or always safe, few words

Beguile is the way of the wine
Past those hillsides we climbed
Out of the forest
And into the land
Towards another festival
Of melodies within our reach

You’re so close
Yet so far away
As we dance in the front
But on opposite sides
Temperance and gaud
Affection and disinterest

Though it matters now
This too, will become trivial
Just give it a year or so
Before the secrets display
A forever changing idol
The cyclical ephemera
In the eye of God

perfection, once certain
eh..... just jesting
always certain

my octogenarian maiden aunt
gave me her antique clock
while she was still ticking