A poet. Yes with a King Charles spaniel and up-lighters.
Market stalls and wondering dick heads at chav night.
Sun a March born miracle.
Now gone split glimmer of bright light. Motorway,
Anticipation and cherish like yesterday pluss.
I see them again. Tiny sheep, furry birdies,
As one would expect as we approach crucifixion o’clock.
Barr Barr white sheep, have you any thoughts,
Or is it just my vegan ego thinking for you.
Fur on green a pleasure to see,
A feeling of cute,
As long as i forget their purpose,
The meaning of sheep.
Future dots of death in nature,
Bloody fruits, unfortunately.
Grizzly terrier face,
On a pharmaceutical high,
Walking with macaroons,
Heading to a room like dead,
Hours on hold,
To find a solution from this.
My head leans to a secret thought
A meditation visa in Burma
Alien-esque with those ears,
Pink and the little wooden structure called home.
How i laugh.
If this is the end and that is the beginning,
Just how i imagined back then when i wanted to stay,
Eating hidden flesh,
Hurling until the blood rises to the skin.
Your mistake has cost you two days and two hundred pounds,
Its cost me twenty years without death.
Hidden amoncst beans and roots,
The screen commits a thousand sins.
Your mistake draws tears past the surface, and out,
My twenty years without death.
Finally a beautiful sunrise,
A sunrise more than grey.
Rising above outer-city suburbia,
High above a sorting office and Jews.
Coasting until a crisis,
and then one presents.
The masters of the universe.
Fingertips caressing skin under months of spinney whiskers.
Skull under the years of skin.
Before the black hole brain,
Thoughtful after the news.