Capricorns, Capricorns are ruled and schooled by the planet Saturn, Saturn, Saturn. A bandit with a similar pattern, pattern, pattern. Capricorns, Capricorns are brethren from a legion; a legion of an atmosphere of the southern-hemisphere; in the equatorial region. At an
angle, angle, angle; Capricorns, Capricorns are angels of Aquarius and

Sagittarius. They’re boisterous, courageous, contagious, glamorous,
prestigious, rebellious, various and victorious-goats, goats, goats!
Capricorns, Capricorns cope, devote, note and quote, quote, quote.
They’re ambitions with superstitions and various missions, missions, missions! They’re novelties and poverties, revelations and

revolutionaries, revolutionaries, revolutionaries. Capricorns, Capricorns are theories and visionaries, visionaries, visionaries.
They’re objects, projects and rejects. They’re leaders and readers that are poetically, negatively or positively dictatorial and doctorial!  Some are historical, optical, political and radical; authentic, eccentric,

neurotic, poetic, theoretic, theoretic, theoretic. Unicorns, Unicorns are biblical and mythical, mythical, mythical; they’re ******, exotic, iconic, ironic, magic, nostalgic creatures, creatures, creatures. Their features
resembling a horse of course, of course. Furthermore, they’re fierce and a force. They’re a breed and creed of desire, fire and perspire, perspire,

perspire, perspire! They’re viral, viral, viral! This partial, sworn steed;
born awesome, awesome, awesome and too blossom, blossom, blossom. Unicorn’s spiral, crescent horn usually projecting and protruding from their foreheads. Rough and tough enough too pierce,
pierce, pierce! Unicorns, Unicorns are defendants, independents and

pendants. Hark! Hark! Hark! They’re brilliant and resilient sparks, sparks, sparks! They’re told as bold, old art, from the heart, from the start. Unicorns, Unicorns are fillers and pillars of guide, pride and
stride, stride, stride. They’re along for the long, long, long ride...
Unicorns, Unicorns are strong, strong, strong! Some as a song, song,

song, some throng, throng, throng, some wrong, wrong, wrong. As a
child, child, child; wild, wild, wild! Unicorns, Unicorns overwhelm, overwhelm, overwhelm. Their domicile realm, apparently, inherently and originally belonging from India; alleluia, alleluia for India, India,

India! Capricorns and Unicorns; two different creations. Capricorns
and Unicorns; two different relations. Capricorns and Unicorns; two
different situations and superstitions. They’re rainbows that glow, know and show. They’re of borrow, of sorrow and of our tomorrow.

declarations of independents
Ribbons of whole heartache leap from the open page of turning tithes. I am sent here in soluable frequency to spire darkness with a spear of light, hoisted high above my sunny head I am turn down the noise and offer you silence with a vengeance to feel. i am unity in overcoming I am selling you hope i am hurried and shushed out I am sore from the shrapnel of life's dark hauntings i AM poised to reflect. I am the shape of something unseen and the likes of me have never been defined. I am Gods own, I am no ones tether or toy. I am hurdles behind, before, and in front I am celebrations of love left to stand in the sun I am not free. I am running for the door with demons to slay I am slippery to grips untame and I believe I am something and someone good and true, and as I wind down this windfall, now who are you?

Betrayal is the limitation of thought
Its perspective allows incorrections
Arrogance caused by inexperience
Disasters catapult false fabrications.

The little chapel stands at Walpole
Owned by the independents
Here the grass in the churchyard
Flutters those who knew too well.

Love Mary ***

Old like a pensioner,
I'm reminded,
every waking hour,
of how I'm being left behind.

I'm sat there,
staring into space,
waiting for the world to change,
and love to accelerate leaving me stuck.

Stuck in the past,
where people are how they are,
where they haven't changed into freaks,
intent on destroying what makes them beautiful.

They are just fresh and pure,
and wise enough,
enough to not take risks,
risks that aren't worth taking.

But SNAP,
an adrenaline rush,
back to reality,
what has happened?

They bitterly remind me,
that I'm to ill to be in control,
they have planned to move on,
without a second thought.

I am sat there,
a hopeless mess,
while they leave to get a job,
proving there ability in independents and change.

It doesn't take a genius,
to realise I'm ill,
the anxiety of loss and change,
leaves me edgy and so low.

I'm dying,
I hope someone,
can **** my troubles,
before they **** me.

Independents have it hard as
its tough to choose between
a democrat and a raving
fascist idiot I know that I do &
the nights they must have
spent tossing & turning over
this near unfathomable
question of Trump or Clinton
as President elicits the deepest
sympathy on my part for this
near unanswerable dilemma
of Trump or a Democrat & I see
I do, how tough it is to be an
Independent these days, just
so very, very hard.

witness dusk on the top edge
of a mountain higher
than the largest problem man ever created

Having a best friend is a wonderful happening
its a wonder and a **** of the head
a twist in the neck
like the most interesting engagement
transpiring right now

the pink sky fading on a girl's birthday
and a disposable snap shot
of a moment
where two girls smiled
arms outstretched towards infinite sky

individuals independents
fond over memories
of a friend somewhere
out of reach
they pull out like a ruffled note
in a pocket
during times when great things
are happening
but no one to bask with

witness the dusk

we found ourselves there once
except we were dancing above
the problems

Joyous Goddesses content
with blindness in the fog
heading for dawn

They killed off Croydon
when we eventually lost Safeways;
no butter milk or Blue Nun
no intelligent 70s decor
or ghosts of people with a touch of sense
walking the aisles contemplating
Kate Bush verses the Motors
for their wine bar aperitif;
or acknowleding  Croydons appearance taking a hit
with the Park Hill estate.
That hasty built ****** record store
nudging your independents.
Times are a changing
not yet year zero
yesteryear still good

Front page news
Sad times ahead for happy people
Get in line
Politicians losing the whip
Seen gratifying in phone boxes
A liberal conference
Army cuts have seen the Swiss win the neutral war
Big aeroplane playing hide and seek
Same *** marriage plunged into disarray
Heterosexuals revoke clause 69
Mary's got a headache
Migration watch in london spot new species
A rare Nigel
The stay together campaign have run out of money
Independents rolling in the black stuff
Later changed to multi coloured stuff
Guiness drinkers in Swiss tanks demand apology
Women say bedroom tax is affecting performance
Men agree whilst channel hopping
Bald people in North Korea wigging it
Same *** mannequins in Moss bros
Church moving to M and S
S and M on Saturday nights
Hp poets uploading
Beware
Bound to offend some dummies.

This ragtime band of crusading heroes, called upon to support the crux of contentious plot, designed to be ridiculed, ridiculed to be designed, holding the proportional strength of a thousand independents in their clutches as they march haphazardly onto silver screens, reimagining through a stencil the works of yesteryear, paying homage to homely men long unaccounted for, and damning the spark of imagination held at their conception.

In one year I want to fly
And not on any human made machine
or
jumping out of an airplane with a safety net to know I wont die.
Forget that nonsense,
I'm going to sprout wings out my back
Exactly where those knots have been hurting me soooooo bad
from pulling double shifts everyday
picking up 50lb bags.
I'm going to do exactly what birds do
and turn back evolution
because we all know we resemble birds when we're embryos.
But my wings won't look like angels
and they wont have feathers
instead they will have scales reincarnated
from jurassic park days.
A human pterodactyl.
And the newspapers won't know what to do with it.
What nickname would be given to the flying beast above the city?
It sure ain't superman or Lois Lane by any measure
it looks like a dinosaur with a human for a head.
And that will be me.
Flying above streettops and staring down at the landstuck animals.
I won't fight crime, or save the world
I might just scare window washers until they slip and fall
and then swooooooooop down to "play" hero
I probably will end up a freak...
a misunderstood adventurer
turning back time and trying to play GOD
I can hear the scientists and religious preachers preaching their own disdain for what I have done
Destroying darwinism in an instant and completely ruining the human genome
The republicans will attack me and The democrats won't back me
the independents will call for love and peace for eternity
but please, they don't have enough money for primetime tv.
No
No
     NO
I will end up the outcast of society and hated by every human that has a country on their Passport
I will be terrorist threat number one and you can see me on Unsolved Mysteries.
The History channel will have hour long specials with experts you never knew existed
getting paid to share expertise on something you didn't even know existed
But that sounds kinda cool...
So now I'm wondering, should I start to sprout these wings?
I am no fool, I began the process 15 minutes ago when I began writing
but now I want to pull these wings deep within the rib cage and hide them forever.
No
It doesn't matter what they say
They're JEALOUS
They could yell and scream and throw missiles and stones and fake bullets and best laid plans
But I will dodge them all
Remember
I can fly.

Praise one God and I thank him for his mercy,
  
He's not just the kings of kings but of course  he's worthy,
  
Now I blow like a hurricane  and ain't talking no smoke,

I crack like a egg but ain't talking no yolk,

I could explain where I'm from but I rather thank the lord,
  
Undefeated  saints just check the score,
  
We not clapping them triggers we just clapping are hands,

We not listening to others just obeying commands,

Rather it's free will or independents,  

Seems like when I talk about it they get offended,

  God is good God is great,    

Thank the lord for this plate,  

They Say I'm outta order so they order me to go,

  I'm screaming thank you Jesus into everybody knows,

That's what its for Carly Rose,
if you don't use it, you lose it

a bowl of green with eggs and steak on the fourth of July

      Independents day and we're whacked out Americans living breathing and dying by the scores and handfuls, the plague walks among us now, I read in the paper it says more and more get it and case numbers soar, my uncle tells me that it reminds him of Vietnam and the number of enemies KIA at the end totaling three times the entire population of the region, but I digress,


the whistle rings true and the crack and pop of the firecrackers feels good to see it, feels like you're lost caught in something special

I stumble onto an old path, past the mansions of Bexley on the edge of the railroad track overlooking the river and behind us peeking in the bend behind the trees stands the city skyline, the glass and stone towers gleaming in the darkening sunset of orange burnt moonlight encased in a tunnel of evergreen pines and peak summer shrubs alight with the blinking of fireflies, sequencing the secret we are all trying to express, I want you, I want you all, you beautiful creatures of this world, we pulsate and ;lust with every fiber of our beings hoping for a moment of sensual touch we stretch out and burn alive this word is meant for *** and love and god bless us if we can get both, running and gunning, that's what the languid pulse of the fire flies calling out with their golden green lights under the dull moon sang about as the head lights from distant cars would slide across a rail road intersection in some sleepy part of town, the full moon bright as a harvest stone, framed in this, secret forgotten, a lot, broken glass on concrete and gravel graffiti nonsense, neon bike lights dancing, leading a way through another day

Global
revolution.
Insidious
connections
circulating
the globe.
Tsunamis.
Technology
tsunamis
wash over.
Washing
over all.
Washing away
what was.
Preprogrammed
narratives.
Controlled
by the
few.
Infecting,
corrupting.
Eviscerating
independents.
Infecting
all.
Infecting
with conformity.
Global mind
programmed
controlled
subjugated.
Technology
mind control.
Obvious.
Tsunamis
already
on the
way.
Already
visible.

.i still why i put up with these guys and gals, and their videos, working around the per se ad infinitum: talking about using the internet, while using the internet... a much delayed **** lodged in the outer extremities of my intestines, would be compared, metaphorically to some un-relentless thought lodged in my mind... but no... more like a stiffening of the neck, which requires some excess movement, to crack...

jeez... i'm honestly sorry for saying this...
but being this worked up?
all this testosterone outlet whipping bag?
i care, i really do...
            but everything in this world has
come full circle,
     a death in history is not what
Francis Fukuyama predicted...
    well it is it isn't it is it isn't... etc.,
    i'm not talking about ideas...
liberal democracy is not on the cards...
what is, on the cards is...
  hmm...
              when journalism becomes
insomniac...
     is this some grand "conspiracy"
to unlearn history, rooting,
even from the bothersome beginnings
of the 20th century?
   you're talking to an insomniac...
who drinks to sedate
(but miraculously continues to write,
like... he's not there, but his body
is there, typing away)
and takes either Naproxen
  (pain-killer) or an Amytriptyline     /yo! over 'ere
(look it up, big affair in the press,
lasted about a morning, maybe
pinching an afternoon...
  anti- something...
inflammatory, depression?
   hell... **** works...
   i wake up on a cloud...
     i actually lay off 30 minutes
before getting up, "thinking"
that i'm still dreaming)             /tab....

so? i just... switch off...
videos are so intrusive, and passive
at the same time...
    translate all the internet videos
onto a canvas of t.v....
you wouldn't last 30 seconds
listening to something like that...
outside of the confines of
your headphones and a small,
small screen...
                 beg to differ?

but i had a thought... or more an afterthought...
writing is not exactly video...
it's counter-intrusive....
you can read it, or you don't read it...
if a critique is coming,
may i first compliment you
on making the effort to read,
rather than passive watch a video
of someone talking?

              me too, i'm glad we're on the same
page... would be a shame...
if... whatever if there is at this point...

so in the afternoon i
put on
    last of the independents
by (the) Proclaimers...
and one song stood out...
   money talk...
while making a salad...
   by god and who's who and
who's goat is that?

   who would have thought that
raw beetroot,
raw cucumber, pickled cucumber,
red onion, a chilli,
coriander... ****... what else...
lemon zest and lemon juice...
oh... right... and feta cheese
were a good combination?

i didn't... until just earlier.