The Thirst Of April

Hooray!
A brand new day
to have my say
I wake up to make up
celebrities,
made up deities,
coked up mysogenies,
diasporic theories,
on mornings wet and dreary
People shot while on their knees,
bigger figure burgers
with extra cheese,
coupons for add ons,
cheaper pills
for harder hard ons,
higher rates to work
and lease,
slaving
while ageing,
for wages to appease
the unfeasible,
unreasonable.
Seasons for diseases,
sniffles,
coughs,
and midweek wheezes,
ringing in to blag days off
to be freed,
smoking weed,
snout nose absent from the trough

Ministrations

Pull your finger out,
lager lout,
have a care
if you dare,
and shout
about it,
if you doubt it
A pyrrhic victory
for liquored up dicks
in the ministry,
as silence reigns
on rush hour trains,
our tongues
are stilled,
from mouths fed full
and pockets filled
Thoughts
are censored,
fenced off
with a tense cough,
behind hands
we once
determined as good,
but now find
no longer kind,
and grip slipping,
from the dripping
of indiscriminate blood

Aleppo

The first insult
you mutter,
vindicates,
and indicates
you're a nutter
You're poor
in terms of wealth,
that
describe mental health
Odious
but commodious,
accommodating
fluctuating views
of interpreting news
Guns are held,
people shelled,
trees felled
for paper,
to describe
tapers lit
by suited shits,
a board game
of unrelenting shame,
where dice,
thrice thrown,
earn extra turns
to win
in the end,
offending,
never ending,
rule bending,
rights to fight
you shoulder shruggers
and shirkers
you bomb,
do no wrong,
aid workers

The Law Of Averages

If I touch you too much,
it's the proximity
of fragility,
adjacent to mortality,
tangential dichotomy,
essential taciturnity,
the promise of eternity
If I hold you too long
is it wrong?
You're detecting
me rejecting,
space age,
road rage modernity
If I kiss you slowly
it's the closest thing to holy,
but I'm shucking,
chucking off the covers,
blankets and sheets
that conceal two lovers,
one anachronistic
and dutiful,
the other mute,
but beautiful

Tear Along Dotted Line

Clinging to packages
under carriages
on trains
Under checkpoints
hand held over child's mouth
crawling through drains
Through undergrowth
while guards patrol
with dogs barking at passport control
Inside trucks 
falling from planes 
killed under the wheels of trains
It's this country
with which they're smitten
Sign up
and line up
for the brand new Battle of Britain

Age Of Tings

Collect resources,
live longer,
collect coins for wonga
Build a castle,
recruit serfs
Toil the earth from a distance,
crush all resistance
Annihilate and decimate
opposing forces,
with infantry,
pikemen,
cavalry on horses
Show no mercy,
but worse yet,
place bets on outcomes
Keystrokes
by lonely folk
battling their wits
in urban flats
and run down bedsits
High definition
limited edition
rendition of a life lived
to screen
nose pressed
face sweaty sheened
and half undressed

To Protect And Serve

Avoid the fray,
don't disobey,
Ran the sign?
Just pay the fine,
accused of random acts of crime
Unchecked
redneck blue suits
are shooting the breeze
standing,
prone,
or on your knees
Smokey bears,
doughnut waistline bigger
with hardened stares
are pulling triggers
at random
in tandem
at any stalwart public figure
Fear inspired
they conspire,
hell bent
god sent
murderers and deceivers
guns instead of cleavers
I tire of the fucking butchers,
of Pastor Terence Crutcher

Intentionally Left Blank

Yellow line,
bright,
down my back
reflects light,
intermittently illuminated
by pools at night
Spat on
and shat on,
KFC bargain bucket
for a hat on
Friend and home
to those drunk
or all alone
Big stone smiles,
cobbled teeth
and asphalt feet,
I'm all street.

Curved Space

How long would it be?
And how far would we get?
Before the recourse
for discourse
forms a big cause for regret?
She squirms,gurning,
as I'm learning
she's unfamiliar
with a contradiction of terms
Past tense is nonsense,
future tense
no recompense
Only the present lends itself,
so make amends
to future selves

Bradford

We're fearing beatings
from punks,
and drunks cheating,
the dangers
of spare change jingling,
I'm wearing the same
clothes
as you,
it must be
nineteen eighty two
Zombies
in crombies,
causing frowns,
in once brothers worn,
slightly torn,
hand me downs
Town beckons
hecklers reckoning,
night bus catching,
bottle clutching heathens
heaving,
scathing looks
from chucked up guts
in alleys,
and gullies,
dark streets sullied,
we're hiding frowns
worried about bullies,
in this home,
our northern town