You held me close, yet lied to me,
A traitor's mask I could not see.
The warmth I crave, your arms I seek,
But truth has made my heart grow weak.

I know your truth, but I can't say,
The cost is one I dare not pay.
My silence screams, my heart decays,
Bound by the game we’re forced to play.

Still, I’m trapped in your embrace,  
Hating the love I can’t erase.

Storm in the city,

dashing on the brick pavement:


police on horseback.

that day
the policeman was in a jolly mood
he sang on the job as he gunned people down
listen to his out of tune song while
cocking aiming firing his machine pistol
emptying the clip into running screaming people
reloading doing it again for he had ten clips
each of thirty two nine millimetre slugs
zipping zapping into people thud thud
the roar of his sub gun echoing about
quick call the cops there’s a mad man here!
oh **** he is a cop who’s just robbed a bank
plugged the teller thru the heart stone cold dead
studded the manager across the chest
all for a bag of gold sovereigns in his shirt
look how he stops to light a joint
deeply inhaling the **** with a smile
then opening fire into store windows
at terrified people hiding inside
who if they live will never forget
the mad singing shooting cop
who broke a dozen laws that day

She ran a boarding house in Boston,
But they used her size to terrorize men
And lead them to the lock-holes.
Or was she a lady clad in black ruffles,
Presented to the Queen in 1844?
Perhaps she was a racehorse
Foaled in Harlem and won a prize.
She had peddled drugs and run a gang
In the chaos of Civil War,
Black Mariah escaped from the darkness
Of Edison’s studio to roam the world,
But in it found herself re-imagined.
They named police wagons after her
It’s said, but no one knows the truth.
Did she cross the battle lines again,
To tread on civil rights?
Or swing the batons in Chicago
And fire rifles at Kent State?
She seems to take time out to charm
Gruff-voiced men who sing her praise.
She prowled the streets of Brixton,
In 1983, with truncheons at her side.
Through gas clouds, dragging men to jail.
Black Mariah is with us still,
Helping to create tyrants and traitors,
To stop the mouths of those who defy
She’s an accessory to the killing.

"Once he is within our custody, we shall take his life. He shall be, henceforth, survived only by the image that stains my CCTV screen."


Security is no longer watching the CCTV.
No longer watching someone purchase a rice pouch—
Pulsating in a sterile environment—
Monitoring an image that was never on tape.
Focusing, so deeply, on a soul that was never on tape.

So deeply fixated on those who have committed a crime.
Those who are substantially unblemished by sunlight.
Those who are continuously touched by our Heavenly Father's sight.
Those who unceasingly scale onyx towers draped in a government skin,
Waving pure flags against the night.

white
black

blue

lifeline
noose

the clatter of machinery
invades my bedroom
as rotors defeat gravity
for as long as fuel allows
someone's on the run
headed for the woods
at the back of my house
why do they think the
darkness of trees and
undergrowth will hide
them from infrared's
all seeing eye, their
journey to freedom
is about to end dramatically
under spotlight
I've got to get up for work
in under four hours