Nasties.

In old folks homes
do Nazi's roam
stealing park benches
in Post Office queues,
complaining of Jews
in queues into Kew
for lots they once drew
no choice
did they voice
where birds no longer sing
fog like gunsmoke lingers
where fingers interlaced,
lovers and mothers embraced,
where wire
and fire
combined to make pyres
shoes counted and paired
hair shorn
uniforms worn
and races torn.

Trust adjustment.

In libraries,
scriberies,
scholastics perform gymnastics,
lies reside inside,
alongside childrens rhymes,
and moral crimes,
words removed by governmental guidelines,
dates changed,
fates chained,
events erased,
replaced and ill fated,
revised and updated,
defamed generals fade away,
dinner on a serving tray,
in nursing homes
where nurses comb
the grey on bald and shining domes,
dethroned
bemoaning the abyss
the plunge
into the precipice.

Eat this.

Turned on telly's,
big fat bellies,
bite size,
the right size for fat thighs
and mini pork pies,
Ginster widows,
through minster windows,
bemoan their woes
in chosen roles,
with butter,
they utter,
and extra clutter,
all the better with batter,
and fatter
no matter,
cos Hello's new diet,
will fix it,
so try it,
feeling peckish
we deep fat fry it
with chips
while bips
on the monitor
grow slow.

Boire,fume

Nine months of hard walking,
through cities and villages chalking,
my name on foreign walls,
tall tales heard
from the patter of rain squalls,
sleeping is cheap
under bushes deep in undergrowth,
I don't complain
but walk alone,
shaking hands in unknown lands,
the magnitude
of my gratitude knows no bounds,
to strangers
and unseen dangers,
food given,
drink shared,
by caring shabby long haired
street sovereigns,
princes,
queens and kings,
sitting in parks after dark,
sharing,
tearing loaves in half,
an equal division,
a vision to tired eyes,
blistered feet,
burning city streets,
newspapers found,
telling stories of wars,
boring tories,
football scores,
debates by delegates,
and beaten down doors,
paper insulates,
when stuffed down your trousers mate,
benches await amid wild screams,
our grateful dreams.

A Jar.

Half left open doors
tell stories,
partly heard sentences,
building pretences,
fixing faces,
expected tasks creating masks,
whispers in bedrooms,
don't leave me with much room,
twisting and turning for space,
half embraced,
a shame and disgrace,
potential unfulfilled,
parade square drilled,
condemnation and a desperation,
formed from scores unsettled,
insult embattled,
encumbered by weights,
demonstrating defamation,
etching patience on the slate
with a scribe,
pointed end scratching,
door softly unlatching,
troublesome stubble erasing childhood,
sanding skin
like poorly finished wood,
abraded,
erases traces of self,
toys put away for another day,
robots may exist
in souls of those we'd fight to resist,
fists raised,
bruised rage,
turning of pages in books half written,
but shat on and bitten,
far too soon
by the light of a blood red moon 

Of Ducks,and Drunken Fucks.

Mallards and dullards,
feathers and blow hards,
frequenting city parks,
squawking,
larking,
puking in the dark,
hiding in rushes,
shitting in bushes,
strewn with beer cans
by hands demanding,
grasping,
remonstrating passers by,
bread thrown,
and head thrown back,
emptying tins,
chins glistening,
gin christening,
pissing in the gutter,
muttering gluttony
and mutiny,
under PCs close scrutiny,
disturbing the great British dogging community.

Variations.

Its neither hot,
nor cold,
never bought,
and rarely sold,
not deep or even shallow,
not heaven,
or a shadowed hallow,
not seen,
or heard,
or curtailed by words,
no colours would describe,
no shades or shapes
drawing defining lines,
no weight or mass,
or clouds of gas,
no delineation,
no beginning,
no cessation,
created and orated by,
those who stand
and wonder why,
despite the chaff
and stuff to buy.

Dales fairytales.

Once upon a Yorkshire time,
black faced whites stood on the line,
eye to eye with uniforms,
horses trudging,
pushing and shoving
but not budging,
truncheons bludgeoning,
blood spilled in playing fields,
not yielding,
folk gave food
like when the V2s came,
only the dates have changed,
blame passed like a parcel,
each morsel consumed
by red cheeked buffoons
sat in capitals,
chopping with large knives
our lives,
livelihoods and neighbourhoods,
ginnels and snickets,
whilst dads on pickets,
fought,of course
what we're taught,
is a system made legal by violent use of force.

Nemesis.

To be slain and flayed,
skin tattered and battered,
jaded soul faded,
debts unpaid,
credit status upgraded,
worries allayed,
traded for gear,
tears tattooed on faces,
DHSS queued,
copy of a copycat,
gobby
lobby
autocrat,
bob a job,
two bit slob,
walmart robbing,
high st gobbing,
people stabbing,
jabbing veins throbbing,
mobs lobbing bricks,
sticks beating ,
people bleeding,
while newspaper reading folk
crack jokes,
at the expense of the poor,
in the present tense,
tragic scenes in glossy magazines.

Waits.

Grammes,
ounces,
pounds,
groaning sounds
from next doors flat,
scurrying rats,
turf wars,
scores evened,
tensions eased,
lesions lanced,
advance payments of social grants,
chancers,
Soho belly dancers,
night buses,
streets bleeding rain,
cats hissing,
piss in the streets,
girls kissing in heat,
getting beat,
backstreet hugging,
beer chugging,
mugger buggering,
thug loving,
law bending,
tender loving,
boundaries and ties,
do rights and do wrongs,
dying lights,
and sadly sung protest songs,
fact and fiction co-incide,
lines are blurred,
lies revised,
folk chastised for smoking outside,
poisoned products,
chemically blocked tear ducts,
chemicals for weekday thrills,
oil spills,
black billed gulls,
obligatory badger culls,
striped coats sullied,
high court judges bullied by fat wives.

Did he? I mean

Who the hell is Idi Amin?
hang on a sec and you'll see what I mean,
did he order acts quite obscene?
with a populace tied to a dictators dream?
fathers,
sons,
mothers and daughters,
murdered and raped,
disfigured and slaughtered,
mortared and shelled
shot at and felled
with axes,
machetes,
and knives killing wives,
did they cry?
the molesters
as they mowed down protesters?
with rapid fire rifles
they just followed orders
by transgressing borders
while the press photographed
soldiers as they laughed
drunk on the power
breath stinking
and sour
consumed with the lust
of a ground stained like rust
what is just?
so I beg your attention
if I may kindly mention
some unpleasant questions
that demand some retention
between adverts of shite
supplied to minds once bright
but now huddled
and fraught
by the stuff that they bought
from a discount carpet warehouse forecourt
culpability
and gullibility
run hand in hand
through manicured fields
torn apart,
ripped up turf
to yield
resources,
minerals
while we supply generals
with unspecified terrors
and we swallow
as we speak
to disguise
but poorly hide
some shame
for the error
because
in retrospect
had we known,
I conject
with lips red
and flecked
from speaking lies decked
in banners
and flags
streets swept
people kept
on shorter leashes
by our request.

Gramps.

Old men chew
on worn out dentures,
represent past sea adventures,
shuffling through corridors,
veterans of age old wars,
medals in forgotten drawers
from a time
spent in the corps
Once youthful,
sprayed by brine,
now queued for dinner
in disorderly lines,
forgetting 1939,
and Butlin's camps,
where they trained to implement
a nations rage,
stiff upper lips on the decks of warships
while Wiggy and Philpot
are blown to bits,
hunted by U boats
they stood in their new coats
whilst underground
safe and sound
Prime Minister sits.

Inflation translation.

Matter,
matters,
metaphysical chatter,
deep space catalyst,
a subatomic pico-tryst,
events compressed to micro seconds,
they reckon,
by the best interpretation,
of this causal radiation,
emitting,
unwittingly,
by chance or design,
a universe benign,
and gave birth
to elements
elementary,
rudimentary,
simplicity,
sublime.

Salient.

Shouting in the silence,
fighting stances,
revoked licenses,
whispering due diligence,
posters of militants,
minarets,
and unpaid debts,
religious texts,
business premises to let,
lest we forget,
once well met,
teachers pet,
now on ket,
despite the tablet,
fabulous epitaph,
scored off the graph,
demographic,
sociopathic,
a psychopath
on a cycle path.

Societal recital.

Stenna stair lift,
henna hairlift,
insurance quotes,
looked for votes,
pistol munching,
business lunching,
stock exchange,
cats with mange,
yoghurt ads,
new found fads,
Alka-Seltzer,
helter skelter,
shitting
in a bucket
in a fall out shelter.

Nematode.

You're Robespierre
standing there,
misery for a staple fare,
I hope you get the reference,
insisting on a deference,
like it makes a difference,
consistent insistence,
to justify your existence
Fat fried chips
spill from your lips,
as you bemoan
with witty quips,
are you confused?
I'm not amused
by the abuse and contusions
caused by verbal detritus,
jettisoned not reticence,
mental depraved violence,
we're opposite,
you apostate shit,
your deficit is showing
like a Freudian slip,
a shoulder chip,
a chevron  o dispense jip,
I grow sick
assailed,
dismayed and derailed,
try harder buffoon,
you're a goon,
my ears grow weary
from insults and jeers,
engaging your engine
with gears
become rusty
with a child's
night-time tears.

Quake away.

Finger licking,
bomb ticking,
bargain bucket jihad
fuck it!
shakes and fries,
sheiks son dies,
explosion of hot apple pies.

Collars.

Commonplace
men of race
contemplate
words of hate,
demonstrating,
demonizing,
saying grace,
hands are raised,
ghosts are praised,
holy roller,
sacred jailer,
sweet betrayer,
soothsayer,
bag of bones,
dusty tomes,
iconography,
have a beano
or a dandy.

Spain 2015

Mind Out.

Mind the gap
mind the stares
mind the mindful,
grasping great handsful,
mind the wares,
and soviet bears,
mind the unshaven
and images graven,
be mindful of mines full,
and minerals taken,
of quantities,
quandaries,
and hands that are shaken,
beware of your share,
and count all that's taken,
temper your metal
be afraid of dogs wakened,
thirsts
once they're slaken,
offers on offer,
that empty filled coffers,
and promises broken,
promptly locked doors,
far flung shores,
shoddily made goods,
those who wear hoods,
dangerous dogs
and hazardous fogs,
sweatshop made jeans,
paid for with extremes,
lists of sad shames,
that contain your name,
a role in that play,
abysmal dismay,
things handed on trays,
games played away,
stuff bought and sold,
repeats,
that repeat your life,
on fucking TV gold.

Blurt.

Words never wished for,
but heard,
soft as feathers,
cut deep,
like whips of leather,
clouds gather,
taken vows are shredded loud
by razor sharp teeth
that eviscerate belief,
stomach churning,
acid burning,
vitriol spilled
But who pays
the clean up bill?
Who denigrates
for a cheap thrill?
Who's words
like AK rounds
can kill?
Who eats
but never meets
their fill?
I'm passive
not aggressive,
lassitude is a pastime
for the rude.

Holy Roller.

Black and white robes cluster,
flustered,
they're busted,
crusts on the lustre,
beliefs fostered and doctored,
revised and updated,
slated thirst for
waited for words,
uttered,
spluttered by nutters,
who mutter firmament
and foment sweaty intent,
teeth whitened
and heaven sent,
they dispense
in their defence
nonsensical
Hyde and Jekyll
slap and tickle,
indecisive and fickle
two part fart
crapping out,
nowt,
a revivalist shout,
exclaimed by exclamation,
excrement
and defecation,
don't claim to heal the sick,
you prick,
my gorge rises,
the tight misers
who inhabit high rises,
wisest of guises,
that hide in plain sight,
steal credit for healing
the plight
of the blight,
from glorified boxes
waning and waxing
ultimately quite taxing.

Cakes of light.

Evidence returned
is inconclusive,
parameters set
are not conducive,
paraphernalia
and regalia,
in the light
of your investiture,
we recompense
your testament,
testimonial lexicon,
pentagrams
for right and wrong,
Solomon once sung this song
in a lesser key,
transparently
communicating,
bifurcating,
contemplating gizzards,
to pave the way
for new age wizards.

Bedfellows.

A pantheon of strange pursuits,
performed by men who wear dark suits,
shadowplay
and trades to ply,
quick as a trick
before your very eyes
The leather gloved are rarely loved,
did he fall or was he shoved?
punching hard
above their weight
damaging the communal substrate,
files are passed in city parks
by trilby wearing dark glassed narks,
eyes like sharks,
flint hard,
like diamond shard,
don't expect a calling card.

Cunt Tree.

It's tied up and beaten,
badly bruised and half eaten,
left in a warehouse to partially rot,
rarely remembered and mainly forgot,
hangs limp from kickings,
beatings and shakings,
left to starve
while they rob all the takings,
bleeding and torn,
infrequently worn,
Rohypnol fed
and fucked in the head,
the place we were bred
and born,
a country lays dying in scorn.

The Script.

Medication,
pill tubes popping,
cheshire cat grins
psyche robbing,
effervescent
fizzy shit,
downed in one
at the end of a gun,
maintaining
a fragile habit,
chemically dependent
Estee Lauder rabbit,
wired
to the mains,
a jumble
of multi-coloured wires
to passive brains,
choice expires
like it had a choice,
as Hobson well knew
when
he gave voice.
Diazepam,
Tamazepam
do their thing
I don't aschew
a monoxide suppository
free for all,
on the M62.

Iron rails.

Irrespective of truth
perception reigns,
but derailed trains of thought
are seldom caught
by our brains,
we're trained to refrain
from a feeling of shame,
caught in barbed wire,
the mental quagmire,
until individualism expires,
with a cough
and a wheeze,
brought to its knees,
its the government we please
by giving up rights,
but we fight,
as the boot pushes harder,
making murder
go further.

Going for gold.

My respiration causes condensation,
clouds that dissipate
as we run we can't be late
crawling over bodies
to reach the gate,
evaluating competition,
summarily executing our rendition,
fighting,
punching,
far too hectic,
a sandwich short of a lunatics picnic,
risk your neck and write a cheque
or use your goldcard
if you think you're hard
decked out in Rolex and aviator spex,
we turn with scorn
from the perplexing aspects
of an ambiguous text,
neither confirming or denying
our reasons for lying.

Store bought gore.

A compiled guide to modern wars,
should address the accords
set by both sides,
where fat generals reside,
resplendent in braid,
and the medals they made,
awards
for however many civilians were slayed,
agreed to ceasefires,
never cease to be agreed by liars,
dispassionate entropy,
caring less the more they see,
angers me,
thoroughly,
despite the courts that issue trials
vehemently shouting their denials,
no,
not guilty,
simply advocating frugality,
of a certain nationality,
cold -hearted responsibility,
for a factory/arms trade dispensary,
dispensing
nowt but misery,
so
we'll sell you guns
til you've had all your fun
but then please put your toys away
to be taken out another day,
and the flowers that we found
are ground to dust
as we all hide out underground,
an overwhelming truth residing,
a residue of rules presiding,
we're backsliding
into a siding.

Stale.

Are we bound?
like talesof maidens
trapped in towers,
rescued by knights
with strange ancient powers,
to be drowned in dictative roles,
defining ours souls takes its toll.
Do we need
to be stuffed with greed?
like geese force fed
and led by a lead
to market
where barkers
scribble our value
with bold magic markers?
driven  through turnstiles,
cattle prod us
and we smile.

Barmy.

Before a panel of respected uniforms
you're brought,
to bear the consequences
of a battle that is fought,
to give evidence
of subjects somewhat fraught,
to be mocked and jeered at
by the subjects of the court.
Insubstantial evidence
so they say,
but no matter what pills you take
evidently here to stay,
so in exchange for the evidence
you favoured,
you'll be taken to a place
best suited to your labours,
it only exists as an acronym,
a series of letters
that stand for something grim.

Cluck Book.

A recipe for life
consists of some strife,
a half ounce of good dope,
a girlfriend who can't cope,
include now in your recipe,
a council flat with a long term tenancy,
if you've a tendency
you'd agree,
its a prison not a liberty.
Mix
in equal portions,
of intriguing intellectual
incongruous distortions,
for flavour add
some intriguing dysfunctions,
liberally seeded with
unconscious compunctions,
council tax bills
provide a bland taste,
but backstreet scored pills
get us off our face
distasteful,
wasteful,
the contents
of a wastebin full.

Bred Role.

What role shall I assume today?
What flags shall be flown from the boom and the mainstay?
What mask can be fashioned from left over days?
What paint can be used to cover the stains?
What manner of grammar would suit the occasion?
What words can be uttered to decorate translation?
What vestiges of leftovers of messages for long lost lovers?
What look would best summarize
the love in my mothers eyes?
The shoes and the trews don't carry the news,
the coat or the shirt,
despite all the dirt,
hand gestures for confessed years,
the investiture of time destitute,
deep breaths for temporary deaths,
impermanent impertinence,
a temporal state to dictate a stance,
a trance -like display of a soul in a Victorian glass case,
where folk queue for hours to carefully word their case,
and waste food
thrown
at trick monkeys in haste.

Advert Eyes

So,
we rise and we yawn,
at the days early dawn,
as the globe of the sun warms our faces,
too late for the bus
that burns extinct traces
of dinosaur bones
so we run
Shuffling in line
as we're marking paid time
with the lines in our faces
from past tribal races,
caffeine addicted,
quarter pounder afflicted,
words tumble like turds
from the arses of slaughterhouse herds,
who bellow their fear
as their moment draws near,
but the blood isn't wasted,
its tasted and graded
Gregorian calendars dictate the hour,
revised after Julian's
short fall from power,
the clock with small ticks,
rotates,
so move quick,
to gather and gain
shiny things bought with pain,
and the sweat on our brow
is no different to cows
who chew cud in a field
stupified,
who yield to our will.
Sirens,
horns,
whistles blow,
then its back home we go
for a late night chat show,
and a brief tissue affair
with writhing
long haired girls of Babestation
hesitant masturbation,
chucking seed with dire need,
on the faces of commiseration,
try to sleep,
thoughts creeping
drifting,
with flotsam
and jetsom on the river
of mind
as we reason for treason
and the killers of innocents
who we've wined
and dined,
on the taxmans fat dime,
unable,
disabled,
to sit as we shit,
on tax returns
and mortgage terms,
payment methods
for eighties perms.

Loathes and loaves.

So,
we'll talk this night long,
and we'll right all the wrongs,
that we heard in a song
once played by Pete Tong,
I've got logs for the fire
and a penchance for Gaia
so sit down,
and we'll talk,
but lets pause when we tire,
for despite the ire
and the need for attire
we can warm by the fire.
Lets refute some needs,
of a past long in deeds
and regale the tales
of a life off the rails,
on dusty hard roads
where we once found a code,
to decipher,
in time,
the remains of a rhyme,
that began with a word
that's commonly heard,
but seldom used,
frequently abused,
much misaligned,
but comes clearer with wine,
so I'll pour you a cup,
and we'll laugh as we drink
and we sup.

Holy moley,jam roley poley.

So,listen now and kneel,
its gods-house so you'll soon feel,
a holiness that's sung by rote,
from a doctrine
shouted by a man
who's overly fond of scrote
collared,
like a chain,
to a fiction bound by shame,
some bloke with a funny name,
and a tendency for blame,
who upset all the Jews,
who,
frustrated by the news,
took stone and rod
and fist to flesh,
to score and tear
and rend afresh,
to satisfy a thirst for blood,
and destroy a bloke
who worked with wood,
who,
I'm sure would stop if he could,
clergy playing with underage goods
Pontificate a needless creed,
if you've time for holy need,
but mindful of the tricks and twists
of the wrist,
as the knife blade enters your ribs,
and you gasp,
flabbergast,
as you watch all your past rush by,
with a cry,
you gargle a prayer,
as the last cohesive layer,
of your mind peels away
to a place once seen in the dream of a day
when we thought what we made
would remain,
unmolested,
untouched,
by soft,
decrepit,
liver spotted hands .

Soft sell.

Cell doors slam,reverberate
Bedridden gangsters masturbate,
best intentions left too late,
unintentionally beat the crap out of his first date,
grinding,
twisted rotten teeth,
on broken glass hidden beneath,
some slop on a tray,
so you sleep and you pray,
for a safe shower day,
emerging intact,
not fucked to shit by a bloke too well stacked,
so you leave then you're able,
to attend jobcentres table,
where you can
if you seek,
to be candid and meek,
put your nose to the stone,
for your sins you'll atone,
but you long for destruction,
napalm benediction,
delivered with conviction
by a man with no diction,
who thrives on the friction,
and who preys on the waifs and the strays,
who sleep afraid in HMV doorways,
who tremble with fright at the sight,
of this turgid no-name dogshite,
who slays like the Krays,
with a keen blade he made
with the tools of his trade,
its a life he's betrayed,
and portrayed,
by an A list grade on Broadway,
he's made out of clay
from the scraps tray,
by a poor sculpting slave
who repeats his trade
for the wages he's paid
in exchange for each day
as he sits and he toils,
making people from soil,
and the bits he leaves out
have made lesser men doubt.

Pets in debt.

Haggard and raggy,
unwashed with hair shaggy,
no concept of status,
or concern how they rate us,
pulling veggies that yield,
from deserted battlefields,
grown fat on the bones
of the mortared,
that groaned,
and floundered in mud,
bespattered and loved,
on a diet of blood,
and gore,
that they wore,
as they fought on behalf
of the united whore,
tooth and claw.
So,
we work when we're able,
we sit
and watch cable,
McDonald's fucking happy meal,
because we need telling how we feel,
unlike some,
brought to heel,
liberated bells that peal,
to celebrate conceit,
paid with young men's marching feet,
and memory that tapers,
but immortalized by the Sunday papers.

Cadence.

Hot summer sun,
heats the tarmac that runs,
and scorches the feet
of impoverished lost souls,
without shoes to walk in,
through towns people gawking,
thinking, glad I'm not him,
who wanders at whim,
down paths long and twisting,
erstwhile resisting,
and struggling for breath,
smoking crystal meth,
on a diet of salvation,
broadcast to the nation,
with a daily variation,
smiling white teeth,
that devour beneath,
their Ikea breakfast tables
a diet of internet fables,
misquoted,
distorted,
misaligned,
while sneers and jeers
remain asinine,
fields and trees
undistorted by time,
share secrets and whisper,
to those sleeping beneath,
in blankets
wrapped tightly,
a name
that is thine.

Perambulate

Pushing distance underneath,
feet,
discreetly itchy for concrete,
heather and heath.
Firmly attached but protracted belief,
only ever tethered
not fettered,
to need not want,
to feed responsibility,
of a constant inability,
to redress inequality,
frustrated destination,
complicated designation,
maintaining a desperate situation,
building towers and walls
that must surely fall,
on the heads of dictators,
so will us
not fate us
to a bad Facebook status,
as I smile
and the miles lead the way,
to places I've stayed,
and laid,
with my head on the ground
un-betrayed.

And Djinns.

I feel a resistance
to creating a distance,
between thee
and what I consider this instance,
to make amends
I'll make no distinction
from keepsies and lends
despite mental friction
Bearings and cogs,
the pulleys and wheels,
that turn the desire
of imagined ideals,
pistons,
valves,
hoses and seals,
that help conceal the unlikely but real,
beats a steel heart,
with beats real street smart,
under newspaper in a Parisian park.

Leaves.

"A lot is better than a little,"
he swore,and covered me in spittle,
'tis the truth I do declare!
he shouted with an angry glare,
and argued with a great compunction,
this poet with a desperate function,
inspired by a little hash.
self declared ruler of Lyon Gare Perrache.
His tirade,
reached me where I laid,
and just arrived,
vitamin deprived,
identity contrived to conceal,
a man of the road,
a king of the kerb,
no coins to weigh me down,
no deeds of dark renown,
uncrowned sovereign of destinies unknown,
are bound,
but not by chain or rope,
or deficit of hope
Feet point the way when I stand,
a corporeal compass.
I felt,
750 miles,
by the length of my belt,
by holes that determined
lost goals,
increments of distance,
not soporific resistance
Sat on the banks
of the Rhine
and the Rhone,
time passed and at last,
I slept,
but alone.

Credo

I want more,no offence,
than a white picket fence,
locked up and tense,
bowing and scraping,
too tight suit chafing,
tie tied like a noose.
I want less, no more,
than to even the score,
without bailiff's kicking in the front door,
in the name of the law,
to take,
for fucks sake,
some crap I bought,
over which people fought for a sock in the jaw,
consumer indeed!
I'll just take what I need,
(but not what I want)
ration me,fashion me,
from left over greed,
I'll agree
to concede.

Hip Trip

Conscious connectivity,
is a by product of LSD,
Huxley died in '63
but feeling didn't atrophy,
the U.S. spoke in '68,
to demonize and denigrate,
the U.N. followed their demands,
but still fought wars
in foreign lands,
doors thrown open
soon slammed shut,
outlawed and forbidden but
didn't stop the wave
you see,
contributed to by Leary,
who in '63
got booted out of university,
governments fearing,
so demanding,
outlawing the mind expanding.

Fake goods

Sugar laced caffeine junkies breed,
advert laden shows promoting greed,
politicians agendas,
which celebrities are benders,
insane big issue street vendors,
occupy,
and testify,
supplying desperate global need,
so choose good karma,
donate five pounds to a Kenyan beet farmer,
we'll include now for free,
your own effigy
of the Dalai Lama.

So speak the meek.

A vault-like chamber
a room full of beds,
with heads laid in rest,
thoughts
wrestled and bested
among aged bare chested
men of the road,
clothes thrown,
cigarettes loaned,
pinpoints of amber light,
that illuminate,
quite briefly,
faces,
shaven or bearded,
reviled or feared,
spitting,
coughing expletives,
explosive ejections,
furtive night time fumbled erections,
raining skin and dirty words,
from the top bunks,
I turn my page among the funk,
the story continues regardless.

The Bends

Must we fight for inalienable rights?
must we defend the means to an end?
To what means,I mean,
do we concede
the right to want or live and need?
If we're born equal
what need of a sequel
where all is resolved in a tidy neat box
with all sins absolved?
When you've a moment to spare for me,
I need worship like a deity,
conceit is neat,
when thrown at the feet
of an idol bound,
retained and restrained weighed by the pound,
between pages of text face pressed to lines
not high st shopping for Calvin Klein's.

Mockalot digestive.

Congressional confessional?
regarding concessions to ill thought possessions,
passion spent with anger vent,
the thought police are too obese
to give chase,
to seemingly chaste faces
A facial twitch,
indistinct traces,
non-representational,
a Punch and Judy media sensational,
lines defined by words unsaid,
make your own face with Mr Potato Head,
expressions limited,
patently derivative,
bombs dropped with a slap of the crop
on the bare arse of the beast that we ride,
plunging headlong,
to within an angstrom,
ignorant of all that's wrong.

Lie berated.

Sartre,
drank coffee,
and slaughtered ancient cows,
in rows,
with crowds,
pronounced quite loud,
in Parisian bars,
tipping up vessels,
texts are wrestled and thrown to the ground,
wild theories abound,
supine,
reposed,
composed in prose,
lies are revised
and in twelve equal parts televised,
to be digested,
in portions
that we more or less shun,
lacking the tools,
submitting our details
for QVC fake jewels.

Current gun

Can we find peace of mind,
in battlefield lines ill defined?
Assad must be mad,
in Saville Row suits a parliament of mutes
lost their voice by choice
not by the strumming of  soviet lutes.
Shell shocked faces
belong to foreign races
blood and bone
flesh torn,
another form of western porn,
seen on the internet and treated with scorn.