I want a square of dryland

no darkness held together with fake plastic neon lamps,

a tomb of sound baked polythene,

no drone like eyes

a permanent iris stacked in accomplishing circles in source.


Comforting only the burial of day thoughts,

No hiding place for us for every door is an eye behind another window

each frame of glass a caught moment  that we can upload and analyse at will.


No hiding place for us we are the grains of salt glued between the fingers of the state

human timers with numbers and a skin

the loyal paladin that is kept as a trusted mouthpiece,

the tread of excrement that smoothers the soft leather on the boardroom floor

No hiding place for me or you!




Are you stuck in stone

fingers the soft clay hardened by sea water,


a chink in the rusting armour of day


the X marked in blood – the muted imprimatur

for the answer to when is NOW!


NO matter if the pencils are broken

covered in blood on the ballot box floor

we must remove and open this case of apathy,


NO longer will we be the muted and ignored

for only when each voice can be heard,

will the face of any change ever emerge !




Yellow hound rushing the emerald bough

breath dancing with stems of broken steam,

white haired cloud darts the pallor skyway

above silver headed tree-tops circling the tentative day,

entangled complexion to our charlatan dreams.


Beats of the jaded night plough into insults

the beers were drank with gleeful speed,

I was woken by a chasm of the passengers daylight

this horrid execution engulfing our dusting sight,

an hour before the darkness would breathe.












I, the particles of lost sleep atoms in dreams stolen from men,

a red dress in a black and white flick

the vision of a dead friend talking through the smoke of candlestick,

arriving to whisper you that unfathomable end

I, once the watcher of the city.


The floating rust from queen white chandeliers

fast wind of dead electricity morphing into the corners of bedroom mirrors,

an eye for collecting imagery  a digitised iris for the states cavalier.

Through air vents down gutters of dirty foam into the city,

Eye and director of the unravelling

the ear in the wall cavities of every citizen,

imprisoned our the pious members of the house

gone are the moon racers of determinism!


The city sleeps

while its engine room wakes burning the daylight coal

dewy oil,

under clouds       skinny and starchy

the day provides it’s watchers.





We the ruled – torso of downward blood

pulse slowing our stretch in time


thin skin that grows like epicormic buds

lapping in raw licks of sea,

plebeian to a gentleman’s chimes.


We the ruled – an overfed vertex

for a pendulum that takes chunks

from our auditory cortex

Eon of wilted dummy hair

an overflowing kerf laid at severed trunks.


We the ruled – the impregnated spider

a fossil without tongues

the flaccid and unknowing outsider

a shell with no oxygen

who can only pamper and devour our young.

We the ruled – a stitched lip of dormancy

strapped to the turnbuckles by illusory impartiality.



See beyond that point – crisp and quiet triangle of sea

where fish were touched by the hand of Midas,

just russet anchors shipwreck debris

it’s watery belly so still and lifeless.


The soil beneath your worn feet is the ash of your Grandfather

oak splinters covered the naked green,

protruding stumps – blades with black grasshoppers

the woods a wasteland a swelling tangerine.


Luminous stream of bromine dioxins swimming in beating circles

around oak boulders wedged in ponds

can’t we see in the sands of time

look into how we’ve poisoned the human whirlpool.


When you have but exhausted it ALL –

Ingested the earth of all its flesh and oil,

fed on Mother’s last beating veins

now your invoicing the dead for their soil,

never regenerating from your excessive diet and want of a world and its pain.











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