Wednesday, 30 December 2009

n. Wednesday evening reflections on the toilet (my phone has wifi)

snow falls and i snowball towards january.
christ shrouded in mystery, i drinking in misery
greet a bombardment of emails
all offering me unbeatable deals.
a lager cracks open on the tv screen,
and the recipient dowses his inner fire with 4% danish joy
and 96% denial. copenhagen! success!
another decade rears his face above it all,
another decade slides below,
warmed by the earth,
at peace, under the snow and
uploaded on youtube,
chronicled by the generation
vile and ignorant in its twitters and tweets,
fucking off in my hopeful mind.
it's bigger than us, so large it blinds us.
we don't deserve to see,
all we can do and all we can be
is organicizing and retreating under
the awe of the sun
the roar of the sea
the glory of the stars
and the mighty redwoods,
reclaiming our cut-price coffee tables too busy
nursing the crumbs of another yule.
to quote in summery,
a hum hum hummary!
a hard rain,
is gonna fall.

Friday, 18 December 2009


Think i could piss in a coats face
If the roof kept from touching my chin
Then again if tennis ball could talk
They’d ask for orange juice squeezed from the
Sex of an innocent young street vendor
After they passed their iron mongering test
Of pixie deadlights in my car headlights
A glass of wood and a jelly bucket
Gives me permission to burn an oversized truck
Filled with gob shite old wankers clad in meat
Of ox and poo nosed Arabs saw what I was doing
To their mothers being attacked by pink poofy ninjas
Slashing dildo swards toward my rear and blonde hair
Dyed by blind horses did lead my hands towards wrinkled
Breast and suckle upon tiny teats of fully grown termites
Munching my ol home around my sorry filled ears.
Damn, I thought.

Thursday, 17 December 2009


a bag in the window
that paints my dreams
its call crashing through the dark air
slapping the binds that hold it fast
everything will be ok.

steps follow the sonnet of the evening
time folding memory over the gaps in
my head
looks and movements in an unidentifiable place
just occurrences
on the earth
living only in magnetic pulses
across the river of your mind

everyone together for a
heads down
frowns to the ground

wait and wait for a turn
the maid takes so long
i need hops and greased gears
and open ears
but eyes can’t help but gorge
on the opposite sex
a feast for my trouser beast!

my early days were built for this
if he saw it he’d cry
for the bosom of one

trees in a forest
bending to catch the light
steal it away
it is not there
it is

what is this place they call fun?
a tight test of youth
a calling to the grave
in memory saved

beautiful people

n fuck

tennis ball cunt i break unto
your court and steal what is neccesery and then
i break home and listen to sigur ros.
ross maiN? Dunblane?
what the fuck happened?
andym urrmurray accepted both evfents in a hurry and struck the ball forth
and i stole it and hide beside my living room window
and screamed at passers by: "CUNTS!!!!!!" "BALL FUXCK CUNTSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"
i hark unto them and spread exlixir of lotus oil on thy bosom.
i love thee,

Wednesday, 16 December 2009


Clarkson blubbered into the Italian leather,

Hammond approached from the suprisingly spacious passenger seat to lick a stray tear.

The two men smiled into each other's eyes as Clarkson gently ruffled the manicured hair of the doe-eyed runt.

The two laughed, once, then a second time as they drove off into the sunset achieving an above average 32 miles to the gallon.

Tuesday, 15 December 2009


Attenborough reclined to the sound of his own liqueur tinged laughter.

The animal kingdom was his.

Deals had been struck with the gorillas and tigers, if the war went ahead then he would be well looked after.

His cheetah skin pants growled as he pounced upon the last of his whisky. Grunting and groaning his ancient skin contracted then expanded to expose a tattoo of the North Atlantic starfish residing between his bum cheeks.

Saturday, 12 December 2009

n (for a day marked 'birth')

birthed, girth and all. twenty
one years, fucked and small.
Big C! now glorious in presence,
staunch in stature
and winged in ascent
to the upper plinth,
on which life's answers lie.
In my minds eye,
i see him,
clawing for the edge,
scrabbling for the scroll
Big C! i cry; halt!
your time will come,
bask in the glory and flounder in the sun.
for now you are a man,
but soon a child,

Wednesday, 9 December 2009


Meteor shower

Last night i was lying
on the bonnet of my car,
watching a meteor shower through
a gap in the clouds.
A sudden feeling of worthlessness percolated through me,
trickled into the gravelled ground
and evaporated into steam.
All around me, the cold December air
glanced at me as if i were tinned soup,
nestled in an aisle full of fresh produce.
And above me the stars shot and shone
and below me the earth rumbled and tumbled
through space, dust and all.

Saturday, 28 November 2009


Dreams and screams and ice creams

A playfully sweaty pit minus the shit

Upon the first, the wee man was cursed

to drown in pools of green slime

from nowhere in time apart from mine

Boys will be boys and love to play with

titty toys. The second is no exception to the


A funny fuck with a little timid creature

only in a mind forging a

lusty affair with not one care

A videotape?


and no

A groan

under shut eyes have shown what a hunger

there is. Rewind and


This Mitchell?

What a scoundrel!

Wednesday, 25 November 2009


Frog spawn!
Stern John!
Present to me a match
of two halves and a wife
split down the middle!
Hey diddle diddle the cat fucked the fiddle
and the horse ran away
followed by projected images
from classic movies.
move thee. through tall breeze
and galore around a midnight car.
feast upon a round of cheese,
my my that's a fair pound of cheese!
carve it and starve it till the cupboard is bare,
then spank my bare bum! hair and snare!
Roll into bed and glance at the clock,
ignore time and instead
admire the craftsmanship
of the half-wit machine the pieced it together.
that's all time has become - just another element,
manufactured in china.

Tuesday, 24 November 2009


Good morning I said

Good morning he said

Not too long this one I said

Not at all he said

20 minutes I said

30 minutes he said

This is really funny I said

Fucking right they said

Not for me I said

Why not they said

Hello I said

Hi she said

Dirty kness I said

Yes please she said

Did you? I said

I did she said

Good night I said

Good night she said

Friday, 20 November 2009


Attenborough kicked the dog, it yelped.

Attenborough felt no need to commentate on this sorry transaction.

Tuesday, 17 November 2009


Staunch and wrought with self doubt,
I pre-prepared a cheese and ham sandwich,
reformed and performed at every stage.
I considered myself an oxymoron,
and set about contradicting myself.
I placed my mind on the worktop
and explored my piece from a multitude of new angles.
Hemiplegia set in and I half relaxed,
and half howled at my water-pumped cancer.

Thursday, 12 November 2009


peanut butter motherfucker!

i said,

peanut butter - MOTHERFUCKER!!!


my musky adornment,

mind of its own.

strings being pulled

by its proud head.

logical thoughts?

it is devoid of


"what the fuck is


the baked clams were not going down well.

still, these were the least of his worries. all

he really wanted was a decent blowjob and a

good nights sleep.

Not this fucking shit.


Monday, 9 November 2009


Loneliness is inside the hat of an old man who has just fallen in the street.

Loneliness is the scum surrounding your fish bowl.

Loneliness is a bird sitting on a beach, watching a log swim in the tide.

Loneliness resides under your wristwatch, just out of sight.

Loneliness is at the bottom of a bottle, lying in a landfill.

Loneliness lightly covers your testicles and your anus.

Loneliness is in your lungs, your bladder and in the cutlery drawer.

Loneliness is indexed in last year’s phone book

and it’s getting louder

and you’re getting older

and you’re both getting closer,

to meeting one another.

Sunday, 8 November 2009


night and cold

all our scenes
into dusty

words have left
me, so i pass this

reality must have
hit right
a home run,
they say.

run home you fool,
i'm making pan
and you're

pre-made mix?

one hundred and eleven is as
as she'll go.
cheap thrills merely cover
overwhelming despair.

what could you find
my nails?
like a
masses applaud
cheesy beans.

do this again.
who said that?

Thursday, 5 November 2009


gamble fuck!
you steal from me,
me with luck,
and a fuck ass
wooing and cooing and
sucking our pussies dry.
i know their game and yet
i fucked along with it.
extrapolate me and withdraw from me my money!
APR 6.5% and charge interest unto me.
interest? interest unto my wallet.
you crawlet,
i fuck your CUNT and mistaken your identity.
50 up
50 down,

Monday, 2 November 2009


Get on,
get off,
get off.

Wednesday, 28 October 2009


mind my shackles for they bind me both emotionally and physically,
physic ally! that homo sapien!
one in the eye for luck then six in the anus for fuck,
a glorious chain reaction! all daisy like and glad
the grass is not greener but steams like satans bowels,
then bubbles and bonged for all to see, breathe and reflect upon.

She knows not your power or trumpet vowels,
yet vow's, wow's and cows around in the orchard,
need not my penis for it is cruel,
reject, sanctify and moreover punish, my porridge fuelled being,
a pinch of triumphant salt and she lays to rest upon the helm of night,
milk her like a mammal! nature repeats herself and fucks into the microphone, HD!
Attenburgh spills his tea and sings a song of woe and crow,
and although excited, he fucks the shrew untill it is repitilisized.

Tame that shrew you white haired gently man, for now is your autumn.
Go forth! fuck the death of a salesman, and reference my breakfast cereal,
stroke the beard of eternity as it fondles your balls into acceptance of all that is negro,
yet dont hinder to exceed. recede and reread a classic! orgasmic and pure, henry moore!

The end is nigh and a trillion vermillion chromozones are high
so walk slowly as you retreat from age old lore, tread on eggshells and tempra so,
goodnight and goodluck my friendly foe.
Cast doubt upon yourself. I can assure you that i can assure you.
scooters, holidays, autumn.

Wednesday, 21 October 2009


Its’ all just so overwhelming!

This tally, tally ho and tally hoe.

See it rack up, unboxed and fucked on the floor.

A grand total that keeps expanding,

a fine selection of misery and joy.

Primed, prepared and underwhelmed.

This is the dark side, our U turn and ultimate sacrifice.

Once, twice, weekly thrice!

Viewing and spewing as we leave Las Vegas.

You sexy beast! you’ve lost kontroll!

Take the heat off our child, our kid with parents several

We wild bunch with a sweet idea, birthed in Autumn

Charted throughout spring…summer…and autumn returned.

It’s made happiness prosper

and meeting people


Friday, 16 October 2009


anticipation of my inception to a
week full of expected idleness

brand new duffel housing my
contemporised life :

travel chess
a sketch book for a man who is in love with words
bill hicks
patrick bateman
charles bukowski
bob dylan protests
robert greene tells me how to win
and daniel plainview stares back at me

a large lady with even larger buttocks
keeps me pined and extracts my claret.
good veins, apparently

that thick sauce framing the narratives,
going way back to my dead past

the blue highways shall be purged
of their little whites and reds

the only thing the next ones are gonna get.

room filled with trinkets of old and
sorry time wasters, all of us.

life sized ticking bombs dropped with
a check under the tongue

crimson fallout upon my pallid coat -
that is what I want, yes indeed!

the thought of awaiting another prospector,
a dreaded horror fills an unproven heart

mining for results,
the oil they’re after is far to important

a silver snout hits its mark with
the most gentile of emphasized stings

patient vales await their purpose
lined up like soldiers, in disarray

to be filled is their joy
like to the clock that dose not tick

mother dollar will be my bitch, the
need to scratch the consumerist itch

this damn spigot drags me down
drawing the movement out

at least the sun can smile.
mute squares above me spread and separate, my body drifts upward,
the light fills my heart and I am free of this voluntary incarceration

Wednesday, 7 October 2009

Poops and Peeps line the streets

dont fuck my ass
you cunt
i hate you
i wish you would,

Trumpets and strumpets upon my throbbing member,
as if i would eat cheese in the month of december,

fuck my internal organs
behold my foretold
tenfold increase
in the
opinion polls.

Cameron sputtered into the rent boy,
as if a myth exsists without magical piss,
he crammed the crumpled fiver into his crusty mouth,
then saw him off with a wink.

and sealed the wish with a tink
tinkerbell, suckked like hell,
not a moment in a cell,
but a taste of the flavuorsome gell.

Hark thee mistress hung from my loins,
groins? loins? hark at troid!
troid parker, what a lark for, his whimsickle being.

Not only did i dig and scratch,
but i did find the genitalia that matched,
spaniards and spanners blocked my inserrection,
must ryhmme with erection.

post election? wham and wallop!
bring o the trollop!
tits and all
in america,
it's fall.

seeimg in fosight is a gem,
but indeed the momenton burst a flame.......insane,
poops and peeps line the streets,
and death maims the volume of the beautiful teets.!

Tuesday, 15 September 2009


pots of mince taken from days away
sob stories cheer up my day

can't care, couldn't care, why should i care?
chowing down another 'foodie freebie'.

chug chug
its the magical money machine

i've worked hard,
as hard as a retard

trying to touch his noose.

Monday, 14 September 2009



Non sense

Sense less


Less clothes,

Nice ass.


Picture hook

Picture book

Picture, look!

Picture chinook (helicopter)

Picture spook

Picture took


(and cranny).

Tuesday, 25 August 2009

Latitude (a response) - n

Of course he,
present he,
yorke of yolk
and performed electro, folk!
A perfect one off!
to witness hence
on a boost across the fence
a so called 'foody freebie'
come hence, come see me,
a recording is present,
recieve it as a present,
for although the past
is played out
similarily is the future,
we're backsliding,


So the people crept
and the buildings continued to stare,
all a while between them
time played its eternal game of hide and seek
as the days passed like money from a drunkard's hand.

Starched and parched
like a dehydrated shirt collar,
they marched on in ever increasing silence.
Quite what the fled article was,
was not obvious.
All they knew was that those who fell
would forever mark the tidal path
of humanity's great retreat.

Friday, 21 August 2009


latitude (an extract)

“passing the boarder we neglected the piper. he, like us, is doing it for them and no,

I did not consider the Megan Fox however.

on our journey I was the jukebox.

the maestro of acceleration and gearbox, travelling to a land which be our neighbour and paradox. they consider us a volvox. small, yes but as hard as a pillbox and with passion and spirit like a firebox. this you cannot Xerox. yet still dumb as an Ox we travelled like Hawks. (bollocks!)

the giant metal man did not wave till we stopped at the trave.

it never did occur that a tent delivered from Tesco could have such an impact on ones libido!

where my head lay, the farm animals stay

it took us a while but finally we were there, naked in the night time rain.

no one was there to see me cry.

despite neglecting his duties, the rooster joined us for breakfast, yet still I did not consider the Megan Fox.

can it still be an adventure if you are not lost? The Volost would welcome me by the end of this yet I’d rather have the Bifrost.

hands the next day shaking. bright eyes and sideways glances, Susan Boyle and intermittent showers.

at long last Bruce did appear and disappear and again reappear to take us to the frontier.

oh my dear, oh my dear, oh my dear.




Sunday, 12 July 2009


do they always speak like that?
it won't make you special
and ugly people drink it too?
what are those for?
a bit more and that'll do the job
i'll try and keep it like this
oh god if they find out...
hes never coming back
thoughts like that are counter productive
looking for something in particular?
just give me the whole fucking lot!
the shit i get away with
do they realize
the disgusting things i'd do to her
i just can't say anything
food stuck in your teeth?
why the fuck im i so nervous?
can you turn it up louder?
what the hell dose that mean?

Friday, 26 June 2009



The toilet completed its flush.

I stepped away to avoid the backlash

and chuckled: resultant of the fish shaped loo cube.

It had fins

googly eyes

and a general aura

that told me things would be alright for a while.

I mentored my limbs towards the kitchen.

A banana glanced at me

then ripened under the gaze of my crazy eyes.

Alternative rock played on the radio

and I retuned it, looking for an alternative.

The National. Nice!

I settled with a beer

and after five minutes, got up.

I was back in the toilet

howling like a madman at the eroded little fish.

Things were alright.

Wednesday, 24 June 2009


moulded plastic
soft rubber
gentle to the touch
and satisfying to hit the right notes
to an orgy of thoughts,
the bear carries off his little prey
fun fun fun. it’s
presently big c and me
and others to carry the blunt

drowning inside a vice-like flame
eyes wide shut and head first
to the heart of
this maelstrom.
playing eye tricks in a city sky
filled with bright reds
partly to jump up and shout

time to nominate the jug
insides jumping out of their birdcage
people are the greatest
things to take up the time to
shake off the past
though somehow still the present takes us back.
hotel made up from the dead
yet any human heart
could see that the occupants – past and present
served in a lonely affair

work in progress of
a sordid sorry mess conducts to
ignorance of its sustenance, similarly
water from a dogs back tell tall tales
of painted bodies.
heavy is the head that wears the crown,
aggression seeps through the pours
like garlic that lingers on ones fingers
giving back exactly the right price
look who’s turning round and round
heads spin to see what has been found
a pair of breasts. bouncing. beautiful. and beyond
the mere weakness of sight.

questions that need an answer
like jesus needs judas or a knife in a fist fight.
flashing rage of the utmost cruelty and the glory of aftermath
some could call it jealousy or others… madness
the sight and smell of cunt pushes you further
towards that empty space where all logic is gone
the need to bring climax and slit the throat coincide one another.
there’s many layers to your head
correspondences taken home,
and with a sour - why should i?
fighting dogs for the sake of dogs fighting
a face is hidden in there somewhere
yet its not empty heads where words appear to echo
a stunt rider in a steel sphere
me. me. me.

Tuesday, 9 June 2009


feet up, genitals down, the dogs sniffed the air. the fragrance of his favourite chair was now forever altered. no matter, like all bad smells it sits default after a while.

and with gallant smiles those icicles fell, sirens in the night time, calls for the replacement of missing lights, unblock your ear holes and remember the Romans, cleft in the nose, blatant eroticism of the heavy handed

-the way she moves her neck-

down by the blood that marks out where, screams from inside the earth, classical responses, given the time, the place & the folks involved i’d say we’ve all lost kontroll

Thursday, 4 June 2009



"What the fuck are you counting for!
Stop that fucking counting!"
For once, the eroded old winebox next to me
was well justified in his slurried accusation.
Christ knows how much morphine they had the poor guy on.
Without a doubt, he was completely devoid of sanity
not to mention fresh bed pans.
On this particular occasion his own private downward spiral
had synchronised with the real world.
A broken clock is always right twice a day
but at least it has the dignity to remain silent for the other 23 hours and 58 minutes.

This isn't health care, it's organised apathy, complete with time in lieu.

I hadn't seen one live person or one live person that actually wanted to be alive since i arrived.

A cleaner lackadaisically buffed the mirror in front of me.


Why the hell couldn't she stop hiccuping?

Sunday, 31 May 2009


He took stock of his situation.
Another bank letter raped his mailbox
5 weeks of deserved sweat provided the surface he was standing on.
The sun was shining, daring him to defy social convention for another day.
The jobcentre database proved fruitless,
just another rotten apple placed in an attractive polythene bag
and whored next to the jumbo bags of barbecue charcoal.

Sunday, 24 May 2009


Fat old smile beyond our comprehension

A cone full of chocolate hash

A motherland with the utmost bounty

She blows back our hair

Recitals of verses from our young minds

A trio of dreamers, us three

‘hey hey, cripple creek ferry’

Imported delights with a hefty tag

A second visit yet a different world

Echoes of a past, akin to a morning bell

A blue wonder of workmanship

This one takes work

Happiness comes wrapped up in batter

The best part of the day?

Contact where it is not seen

By a mind from what is like a dream

So many smiles, from faces marking my youth

Orchestral moments dealing in existence

The nature of that beast we call time

I don’t have the answer but

Happiness comes wrapped up in banter


Desolate and green tinged
the walls stare like the patients
condemned and not even realising.
To my left, the hollow shell of a has-been
endlessly repeating hours, minutes
like some voluntary alarm clock.
I'd like to smash my fist in his face
but we all need time
and so he ticks by.
I ponder his life
and in my mind i take it,
rearrange certain elements of it
and before me i produce
someone exactly like the members of the other 7 beds
and the people outside

Friday, 22 May 2009


Morning M'Lord!

The barns had been ransacked again,
political entrails mingled with rotten hay bales and public doubt;
The latter easily being the hardest beating to bare.
Eloquent words to keep us warm
watchful eyes, pig sty apathy and a duck island.
Why are you still in charge?

Tuesday, 19 May 2009


stubby little fingers
smiles devoid of teeth
laughing barrel bellies
hide whats beneath

glasses filled with fizzy pop
a hand under your blouse
eyes filled with melting stars
creeping up the house

giving the punters what they want
spectacles stained with blood
the familiar stench of piss &
feet slipping in the mud

Monday, 18 May 2009


"Fuck you", i simply stated.
He heard, computed and then issued a response to my well deserved insult,
culminating in a magnificent "SUCK DONKEY COCK!".

In the background, Dylan span at 33rpm
and in the secondary background
several, not improbably thousands of eyes were crying.

I considered and then realised
that i was at once completely in love with the world
and also opposed to its very existence.

But yet these matters paled in comparison
to the fact that Bubbles, king-sized grass snake,
was hungry and, of course, needed to be fed.
The frozen ones were never accepted,
Bubbles was only ever tempted by the living 'squeaks'.

However, no one seemed to see the joke.

I reclined, took stock of my situation, and then the situation of five others chosen at random using Lancelot and set of balls number fifteen,
and deduced that whilst i could be doing better,
i was still doing alright,
at least i still had my sanity

and probably always will.


Feeling disillusioned and slightly overcome
with a chronic nonchalance,
i made my way to the platform.

A small rodent,
several ambiguous receptacles,
and a homeless gentleman
littered my immediate surrounding.

The screeching of the train gave silence a moment of rest
as it entered the station well announced.
Carriages yawned wide,
allowing the rift and raft to swap positions,
before being left behind.


"Christ", she exclaimed.
a genetically modified consumer
fixed his pupils on her,
each examining the source of this velvet-laced blasphomy.

All four eyes
sitting freshly peeled
and dripping with curiosity.
As time caught up with reality
panic took hold
and the running began.

Tuesday, 12 May 2009


a coastal town? exemplary, yet costly: i frown!
a gentleman's chance, happened upon.
or did it happen upon me?
i can never tell.
niagara falls,
chocolate melts,
fish and chips,
and a pewter mug.
a fine selection,
the fife connection,
is not one that i want to wear upon my breast.
i muse now, and conclude,
that whilst i may day trip to the toilet,
i leave as soon as my being there is no longer necessary.

Monday, 11 May 2009


‘nothing worth having is easy to get’

What a strange thing to find written on the lavatory wall of the gentleman’s club he thought. Though, to give this establishment said title was a gross case of disillusionment.

All was quickly forgotten as he remembered why he had picked out this particular ‘flower-barer’. Dark skin, yes. Soft features, yes. But it was her famous jaw muscles which sealed the deal.

They were exquisite to say the least - she was quite a worker. As she brought him close to the desired state, he couldn’t help but have his mind move to dark places. He’d always find his head filled with brutality upon release. Of past instances where he let go - with horrific results.

Passion and violence go hand in hand, he’d always believed. He’d tell the judge this if they’d ever catch him.
This one on the other hand, Angelica as she was known to him, was too young to deserve such treatment.

Her time will come, he thought to himself with a chuckle.
He returned to the freshly exhaled smoke of the ‘club’.

Thursday, 7 May 2009


A cat tumbled across my path, an apparent accident.
It corrected itself, moved on.
Panic crept over me.
Was everything pre-determined or was nothing?
I couldn't decide which was more terrifying.

A bus stop appeared pointlessly.
I could not be sure that it had always been there.
A cyclist emigrated round the frozen street corner,
what kind of crazy bastard was he!

i searched for my moustache in a bid for comfort,
only to realise i did not have one.

Tuesday, 5 May 2009


He glanced down at his compartmentalised life;

three portmanteaus,

a dressing-case,

two hat boxes,

and a large luncheon basket.

What a pitiful sight, he thought
as he took a long drag from his cigarette, menthol.

His mind reclined in observation of it's own vastness.
Cornflakes encrusted his leather-bound diary,
those were the good days.
The days when he bothered to acknowledge the rising of the sun.
The rest of the pages sat dormant,
haunted by their wasted potential.

A train went by unnoticed.
It may as well have stopped to take everything he had:
a physical burden and reminder that everything wasn't alright.

The cigarette bounced once, twice
and came to rest beside some long-ago disposed piece of chewing gum.

His pocket watch agreed,
it was time to exit the scene.
The taste of hooker spit reminded him of a better place.

Settling amongst the dust,
he returned to the darkest place he knew.

Sunday, 3 May 2009


car crash telly
ain’t our business

out do the stops and never say
‘excuse me’

a friendly hello and it’s
off we go

a game of so much fun
to be had by anyone

a few more laps
round our heads

cards on the table
eyes in yours

speech of the mind
riding on a pulse

in the air, can you catch it?
this result marks us all

Friday, 1 May 2009


First prize is for who can guess how this will end. It’s pointless yet the motions demand it. We’re all counter parts to the charade, paying for expectations to resist the destroyer

An army of kowtows with nostrils like shotguns. Blood on the glass making the most crooked of smiles. It’s the eyes that get you, windows to where the soul will be, too much time to clock in when the horses are running out

Talk is expensive and not contusive to putting down any more faces that once had power and now own lives. A couple of cold ones makes the evening go quicker, giving us grins like the backs of spoons

Dive into the sweatbox like a deer under your wheels. Old and young, stoned and straight, bright and black - a witches brew of stagnate pools, each on of us a small parcel of life

Staring out through eyes like bullet wounds with a look that cuts deeper than a guillotine. Cheap cigarettes held by dry lips in a dress like a super market meat chart

You let me know the most desirable cuts even if I didn’t want to. The same questions arise yet sly ignorance makes life much easier

It hits me straight as a laser beam. Do you trust this pageant we find ourselves in? Back to back we face each other. There must be bigger things than this, of which we cannot comprehend

Far too easy. You come to me now, like air to my lungs. I tell you barefaced lies to get you on my side. Memories pull at the back of our skulls but song keeps us warm

The feelings aren’t there but there is a touch from a phantom limb, lined up shoulders, tongues lulling from a far

this is one god damn over-whelming fuck jar

Logic is thrown to the wind, another reason for them to squeeze. The eye is watching - it is everywhere. A golden age is upon us, just like the government - a currency of deceit.

Smoke screens to teach a language of unlearning, using the ‘new’ to hammer the nails and twist the blades. I don’t need this. It is not what was agreed, nevertheless I can tell you

God doesn’t run this place

And the devil doesn’t run it ether