Touch the screen to start

Fresh breath down your neck

faultless delivery beyond
the desperate depths
of former colleagues waiting in line
for payday loan sharks
back to handouts

a house of cards.

society knows about this weather
but never dresses appropriately.

Please touch the screen to start.

Barking too

Night time, she coughed...

and woke a sleeping dog.

The other side of the park.

The dog howled and others joined in

Owners showed their mettle by barking too.

This was the most industrial action
she'd seen in her life time.

I live in a neighbourhood

Up on the hill tops
Oak bed posts have stood forever
But as we descend the hill further
her bed frame can hardly take any more
Her place surrounded by
a war zone of refuse and shards of glass
As she does most things men ask
Until she has enough to cover her rent.

I live in a neighbourhood.

Hi Vis

Homelessness in a hi vis
locked in the commute
of sharply dressed suits
Trying to double
their lung capacity
with half of his

But for that hi vis
he'd simply be homeless.

The Press Need Us

The  press  need  us  restless,
To  play  fetch  with  bitter sentiments 
(that lack any substance). 
To possess a disposition of others
which can be echoed by broadcasters.
Protecting top jobs and big wigs investors.
The press need us restless
(more than we need them) 

And if any fox tries to escape this
They hound the living life out of her.

Throw a blanket down

Throw a blanket down -
Insulate a daydream.
You are one of many in a dead end,
sick and tired of waiting.
and as you falter to the window
to smoke your soul for better times...
Throw a blanket down.

Throw a blanket down -
Insulate hope
For the many stood for a common good
and as they have you dressed down
like an old greyhound
who couldn't run fast enough,
whose heart was down the drain
before a shot was fired...
Throw a blanket down.

Throw a blanket down -
Insulate the good times.
Where refresh wasn't so important
and approval wasn't currency
and you couldn't get so far fetched
within your own community...
Throw a blanket down.

Know that many had your back
and every system  has to crash.

Stockholm Syndrome?

Perhaps you needed the early moon
or the hangover of the storm
or couldn't leave your punctured bike
under sheets of tarpaulin

Perhaps you were meeting with God,
howling the hills for a love,
who gave the sea the definition it deserved

Perhaps you were just content with an open plan_
Your bathing bones kidnapped by the cold.

Perhaps it was the ring pull of cans of brew,
which I've never seen you sink
or that elusive drug deal
in the sober precinct.

Or perhaps, under the shelter...

you were let down by the system.

bigots next to me

Let them win the jackpot.
Something to stop them describing
the bite of every breed of dog.

A hot potato
where Middle England's ammo
is fired with shallow joy -
Solutions splashed on the back
of picture postcards
selling the seaside's decline -
Where rain talk is favoured over
blistering sunshine-
where ghosts now roam empty halls
that once stood host to tea room dances,
gentle kisses from doting lovers
And django lead second chances

and somewhere my daydreams
get swept up in all of this.
I'm sentimental, you're instrumental
in the middle of every week

let them win

(or give me a pair of headphones.)

The birdsong 3.52am

The bird song is a landlord cashing a deposit
from a couple who won't get any sleep
cos the man below is a wayward soprano
He shrieks at the top of his voice
revs the fuck out of his stereo
They've got guitars and plants and idle optimism
But he's that cream that never sours until an
inevitable, avoidable crash.

The bird song are his friends who bail him out,
wire through his account. So he can straggle down the hill
on autopilot to get more fuel..A bag full.

The bird song is the shop who serve him
No concern of the state he's in
Part of a building society cashing in
His walls closing, theirs expanding (still standing)

The bird song is 3.52am. I want some sleep.

Swindon Bus Station

Swindon bus station,

Everyone fixed to their screens

Mine out of battery

The patchy street birds 
have a tiresome industry

Looking for anything to digest,

other than old amber leaf

In front of me, I pitch a family
 from a war torn Country, 

I wonder about their future

The wave of support oily politicians
get in writing them off,  
Sticking the needle in their life raft 

The little one is crying,
but occasionally a beaming sunshine

His brother has learnt to
 rearrange his hat, rock the pram,
while the Mother contemplates her carousel

Her garments are not very well co ordinated
but smart and colourful in their own right. 

The little one kicks off his blanket,
his pyjamas are Disney.

Perhaps he'll get there one day. 
Until then, Swindon Bus station.

. 

Dying Butterflies

I've never felt a warm gun on an empty stomach.

1

A rising lantern for desperate folks.

Paling handprints on boarded up windows 

D-Day for state supporters, a ring of racists

A wet dream for editors of gothic script papers

Years back, they started this.

2

Mowing down vital information, warning signs

Sugar-coated truth for the partially blind

Progression is rarely weighed up in traffic jams,

Campaigners binge watch enlightening programmes,

none of which institutionalise a compromise of freedom?

1 + 2

Falling for Westminster

Every night, the news at 10 -

Stomach simmers, dying butterflies

We are delivered a spent rhetoric. A loop.

Sample these dying butterflies.

Suits say they have a monopoly over our intentions...

Why. Do. They. Keep. Lying?

So green, I watch.

So green, I watch. Such anger.
The Pushing of trolleys.
Get out and f*cking walk.
Such anger. Familiar.

So green, I watch and listen.
I'm then reminded of blitzing gentrification.
The moustachio magnate roams the square like an alpha alpaca guarding a plot.
In front the old dear's doing night fever - she drops her lot. Everything she's got.
He goes through her.
Like one of those sadistic f*ckers who speeds up as you cross

On over to where the half baked bastards bustle.
They enjoy the morning sun. Never worry on.
Never worry of spies so green.
Me? I watch.
I expect I've been caught by the captured to.

I Could Be Anywhere

Maroon coffee cups
Bodies sleeping rough
A stream of urine
meanders the banks.

A spark of optimism and thirst
Cannot last - always diverts.

Scratch card hopes
Energy drinks burn out
Quick, Bright, Dim
How could we lose him?
Settle for never finding.

And office block lights
are now the stars
Clocking off the sunsets
This is as good as it gets.

I could be anywhere.  (it seems)

Take your shoes off

1, 2, 3, 4

5am raid

(Sunrise due)

Makes a disco 
of my living room (x1)

Exhaling tension 

Front door swings

Needles as common 
as lilies in spring  (x1)

I hear the freedom in this town 
It's electricity that dies. (riff)

Glass eye white
Smile too thin
Offers me a flight
from the scaffolding (x1)

Forensic teams 
Keep trade afloat
Many of us cannot stay afloat 

 (x1)

I hear the freedom in this town 
It's electricity that dies.(riff)

The MP states the people here for a free ride...
(riff)

On a washed up beach in winter.
They wanted to die.

(riff)

My home is a fearless place, 

no revolution with a razor blade (with a razor blade.)

Just a small explosion at the corner of my mouth 

am happy to have time in or out.

Mass produced wallpaper

The Hotel GM who turned the kitchen blue
The Assistant who cut my days from 5 to 2
The Head Honcho who gave a panic attack a fine
The Foreman who tried to slap me in to shape.

All of these trapped in a system
All of these with just one rag to read
All of these with mass produced wallpaper to hang