2am Warriors 

Knocking shoving but you looked at him and he looked at his mate and then somebody moved too fast. Like that flying feeling in the glimpse flash of bright menu light and the strange accent the kebab man speaks. Loud to stop it but a flash and a shove. The smell of meat and stale oil, of aftershave and hair product and the voices louder. But the ground looks sweeter in the tangle of legs and my lip swells up and a foot here. Grabbed, pulled and hit again. Thrown fist in the cold light of the menu list. The drunken punch lunch the flavour of sour blood. But we could you know. Just leave it out. I punch him again and he’s on the floor. Kebab and chips flying gore the skittery heels the flying hair. I would laugh if I didn’t care but hold me back from another thankless go. Pulled apart another empty punch to throw but the taxis here and it’s late you know. One late kebab and a face to know. No eating in the cab. Wrap up the meat you know. And the lights overhead flash by as you laugh. Street theatre and an early bath. Look down and watch the blood drop slowly from your nose onto the salad in your lap. 

Zombies Come In Blonde 

Was going to put a thought in there. But stopped quick. The cops are watching and I made myself forget. Fast. Watching you run along to meet me. But I ain’t there see? I’m over here in the dark watching and not giving a shit. I can pull my hood right over my face so it’s dark and I disappear. You will never spot me. I blend in. Urban cockroach. Among the filth you bring. Holding my ears against the songs you sing. Holding my eyes shut against your light. So my own doesn’t fade out. So it doesn’t roll in pain on the dust. Figure of eight trace the sigils in the rust. I’m not your father or a humourless fudge but a botherer wrapped up in lust. A dreamer a cadburys cream egg voucher redeemer. Bostik gnostic a failed mystic. Blend into the brick you prick. Don’t let her see ya sooner or later you will crash and become her. The bus vomits the diesel clouds for love. But you walk off and I laugh quietly. Choking a little on the fumes 

Tragically Hip & The Bitten Lip 


There isn’t any subtle meaning in any of it

Just cogs moving correct and accurate gears for your fears. I would like to make a personal choice and enter the story here. But I’ll stay away if you will. So the reaper clears away the leaves and lies still. In another Alternity of course they see through all of it and made what peace they had left as they cooked to death. You are pretty and we shared a few secrets. Rolled away the stones and scattered some ashes. You laugh at my accent and I laugh in your face when you talk about your issues. Leaving behind the black sodden tracks and the snotty tissues. StrangleFuckLuck you have. That tight little cunt you tease them with. It’s a hollow thing in more ways than one. All for nothing and then gone. 

Sitting on the hill watching Bristol burn from the bombing. I don’t know. Maybe it was an errant uncontrolled thing, crazy, that thing you used to sing. Tragically Hip something about ships and the way you moved your hips, and the cracked bitten lips. I would have killed them all for you. Honestly. 

Blank Lives Matter

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Always ok but we never truly know. How their lives kindle, flicker and flow. How heavy the day is as they smile and laugh. How the bitter pains are shaved deep down below. And the tears dried up long ago. The ticking time bomb of the afterglow. The tricks they learn to deviate from the crooked throbbing tracks, from the friendly social hugs and laughs. ‘Im ok thanks’ the mantra begins, the vomit rises the chance for sins. They know we hide the sickness well and social groups will always tell, the scratches and cuts the bruises and lumps. The way we walk and bump, they way we smile and talk, the odd left foot first walk. The looking but never seeing. Never feeling always kneeling. The only slight a simple light, a cool air. Another day of smiling. I wish somebody would wake me up

These Songs Were Never About You 


Now these days will never come to pass

For we see the deserts baked to glass

Why do we know the things we do, always revolve around you? It’s the chaotic nature of things you do. 

But you look for answers here, abusing your time. Subtle change and actors always act. Bring the light closer to my face, searing the night. Always clasps it never never lasts. Your fingers grip on and fingernails break, learn to fake, learn to always take.

Hollow loads and breaking the brainwaves. You lie you cheat and you kneel. Always tasking the amounts you fail to feel. 

But these songs aren’t about you, they never were. Share nothing except the scraps they used to say. The less you use the less you have to pay. 

The Lone Funman 


You cyber ghosts sit and tap for results but I’m wary as ever and redundant of course. Just a breather. An honest day dream believer, the lone Fun-man. Eyes glued open to see the depravation you prepared for me. Even if it’s a scrawled message a crooked blessing, sex act under a black flag you don’t deserve. Cardboard characters, made up fiction friction. The slap in your arse, the electronic rituals, the plain sight. You are one in 10 million baby, and I’ve forgotten who you are already. Lost as you are among your interests. 

Every Breath You Fake

You see the rituals all said and done
The arcs afterburned streaks and geometry shadowed for everything has an end at least. For most the least is set and our furrowed brows knit complex songs of cinders and hot ash
But don’t weep or pull tangled hair for we never really bothered as it was all effort to care. Lanes and old roads in shadows, leaf falls and rocking gallows, inch set hedges and tired suicide beech where relatives have hung faded yellow ribbons. The wind tickles sad memorials and it hurts when I laugh. Above the sun dappled leaves do dance and my foot twists as I throw the rope over the limb. There is older rope there, travellers left bounded twine for the last shuddering dance. But it’s happy isn’t it? A new journey to rest and sleep at last? Every breath we fake. I tie the rope and it’s ready Eddie. Steady

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