if you need some time
just have some of mine
don't feel obliged
if we collide

on this starry night

we don't like anything alphabetical  
and we don't like suit and ties
we don't like disaster capitalists
and we don't like the outside

on this starry night

hearing nothing but the wind
and her husband in the trash
smiling at the thought
of living in the past

on comes the train
it’s paved in gold
forgetting at last
accounts from the soul

locked safely in
no room to remove
all of that baggage
locked in their room

bed of railway
pillow of stone
no life taken
only her own

christianity but not much christ
not many drinking, but all drunk
housing for everyone, but all homeless
afloat but all have sunk
burning trees whilst watering cacti
arbitrary kindness whilst loving your wife
keeping the bank account to the brim
god is dead and they have killed him

barely spoken with my book open
wearing aprons with hay fever in full affect
woke up the neighbours four doors down with the shouting
and she calls me unreasonable
did they water this ******* aloe vera plant
or am I making up that it looks dry
shifting through these papers and the paperclip
that's holding everything together
stabbed into the tip of my thumb
and I can't afford my daughters wedding
brilliant that. cats that spat,
sat next to the lamp that leaks lies
like her on the third wine
she used to burn the union jack
now she laughs aleesha or mahil
because they don't look like
jack, jill me or him.
close the books, ask the waiter
bring my breakfast in the morning
under the name surrender
call the banks, tell the teller
rebuild my economy
without the one percenters
we can't agree
which is worse
surrendering
or halving our net worth.

she wants a divorce
who could blame her
she wanted a husband
and we left her in labour

Sometime in September,  I was invited into deep water whilst my life jacket was on rent. There was a woman on the radio, and an insect on my forehead. I named him a her, confessed purity and stabbed my best friend. Sat under a burning tree, with a woman whose name escapes me. She stands up and leaves. Ah the curse of being useless.
Other than those muddy boots I would wear, I own nothing. And the politicians out on patrol, they have the papers, they have control. My radios screaming still, "we can’t afford the toll"

my dog covered in fleas
we're feeding the cuckolds
we're painting the motel
where notes a folded.
we're keeping the aeroplanes
whilst burning the trees
all whilst the cuckolds song
just hit its refrain.
naked violin playing
we come to call
we had the midas touch
but she didn't budge at all.
the cuckolds song is done now

they only wanted to rule the world
with a cast ironed fist
"one more, one more"
until we inevitably kiss

oh, i'm talking about hiking now
thinking about paints
doing much less
whilst lifting my weight;

"can we talk about Marx yet?"
"sure - i never finished though;
i get bored"
"why do they call you james?"
"ask my dad"
"i'd like that - now?"
"not now"
"how come?"
"i need to do the gardening - the grass is too long"
"have you read Marx yet?"
"nearly"
"nearly?"
"yes - nearly;
i'm planning on voting first"
"a light bulb needs changing"
"yeah -
do we have any framed pictures of us yet?"
"no - the lightbulb?"
"yeah - the lightbulb"
"what do we do when finished?"
"nothing - leave. smoke"
"i get you - thank you"

never read Marx. never smoked. paid her. left.
car broke down. called her. stayed. married.
went into the garden.
smoked. read Marx.
bought a lightbulb.
framed pictures. paid her again.
my name is her