Monday, 10 September 2012


Sexual molestation of the geriatric population,
seeing inside their weak-strong faith, 
the mirror of my own. 
Their eyes are as those of great lions.

You can be whatever you want to be - 
make the very best, fucking awesome, 
found my name, found my place, 
found my mate for life. 

Old names recycled well, 
garland the well, 
all will be well, 
in a nutshell - 

Got to keep moving forward, 
got to dance with the swell, 
got to sort the fucking shit out, 
or in blood you'll drown - 

Will you ride 'mongst the ship of fools' poor crew, 
land-bound 'gainst rising tide, 
or strike forth, lost and blind, 
in a coracle, terrified, brave? 

Lost in pubs is dreaming, really should 
be scheming on some sacred saint-like theme, 
but sleep is ever temptful, life tires as long as it lasts, 
is a little indulgence harmful, to balance up the past?

Merripen, Jennipen, it's an oscillating battlesnake, 
a dwarf and a bloody great giant, 
a single grain in time makes a field, 
fractal means of a rune, 
recursive, progressive, I know you know this tune.

(June 2012)

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