I look like Raffa
(Rafael Benítez, Spanish football manager)
no ****!
you put a picture of him next to me
we look like long lost twins

but people don't seem to get
I'm not actually him

vilified by van drivers
builders on scaffolds
through open car windows

"oi Raffa you *****"

they don't seem to understand
he wouldn't be walking
carrying shopping
down the high street

I also look a bit like Peter Sutcliffe
but we'll leave it there I think

all I want is to do, do ,do
but I'd like to smell the roses too

it is strange to see
irregular lines scrawled
across the page
in some small way I made them
helped to shape from where they came
then it slowly dawned on me
they could be better than anything
I have ever penned to page

there is a dark room
the curtains are pulled
a little light penetrates
behind the locked door
I rarely go there
except in secret moments
when I know it's safe
and my hardened shell
can offer protection
I have to be strong
for the ones who rely on me
but like a weeping wound
my curiosity is drawn
visits get fewer and fewer
at some point I must stop
putting my childish anger
to rest

we climb
higher and higher
in our ivory towers
land is at a premium
a square foot a king's ransom
so we dwell among the clouds
eye to eye with the birds
though never know their freedom
we are with the stars
though we burn out
their celestial light
we can whisper in God's ear
though above the clatter
he may never hear us

the metal river flows
into ocean city
with bright lights
human rights
no mercy and no pity
past the world before we came
now roadkill and genocide
become our main aim
the future is today
the living moment
we are on our way
without a clue
of a final destination

give us this day our daily bread
sustained life is better than dead

we fight our wars
oppress populations
make us a game of it
on console by playstation
killing our conscience
with technological brain washing

a game of thrones
and ideology
I can tell the time
in over two thousand years
but I still can't tell
what day it is
people come and people go
the metal river
it flows and it flows

I have spent my life so far
looking through a window
as the parade passes
searching for a door
some way in

to date this hasn't happened

stuck in purgatory
awaiting an official decision
of my fate

I patiently age
beyond recognition
having little of myself
left to give

I will know the sign
like an aneurysm in my brain
bursting to let my spectre escape
a change is  a-coming
but will I survive
my coming out