With a knackered desk and something even weightier to cast from his chest Dwells the boy in the corner Who feels through deposition he shall rise above the rest For he lives to detest, unseeing and unfeeling Any emotion leaves him reeling Though inside something is keeling He is begging to experience some form of… Read more

Hate is a body of water which quells Hate is a body of water which swells Hate is a body of water which dwells within cells Yes, hate is a body of water. It writhes in the mind, wanes all to unkind It floods of their eyes, it fashions the guise Wear the smile –… Read more

Down brokeback alley In the concrete valley near a neon bardo Where couples in tandem, oblivious passed together in tow And within their mouldered rooms men fornicate in woe Right next to the piano store Where a shadowed man sleeps before the door Behind him stands a grand piano Money for which, he could never… Read more

I often gaze and wonder what is ahead of me Of who I am and what I’ll be Shall I be left for dead, upon a shadowed chair Or cold and mottled, strewn upon the stair Just how far is that beast ahead of me? I often dream of who I truly am Of how… Read more

Our medicine, the boredom cure Inject it wholly, sniff it pure Through a blur – there I spy Your razor blade parade  Which enters forth, clad in boots of suede You tease me in to kick me out You hold me down to watch me drown I’m a stranger in this lonesome town You yearn… Read more

A face on the street meets with passerby feet Wincing in ways unforetold, there’s his mate he passes by, a victim to cold Shaking a cup again, he was there and then – not. So you throw some by, cast an eye for the figure left there, discarded like ply  There’s cash on the line… Read more

In my hometown individuality equates to a disease Fester freely with us in ease Stay ten score more and freeze Waste away some more years And drown your fear in ten more beers In our town we hate outsiders In our town we cull the writers In our town we don’t want you here There’s… Read more

Concrete collides as tarmac abides – thirty roads convene, never seen, on any tv screen  unnamed, now maimed, their life in glass cages is spared the pages, of novella – friends of the bookies teller. As ligature trundles through lamplight square Where a skinhead broods a cyclical pictorial of life’s foul moods Perceived through unseeing… Read more