This house is derelict
The land a vast demilitarised zone
I bob my head up from the underground
I slam my fist against the wall bruising it
But do not draw the blood
Yet tomorrow my fist will know that it was used
Against the dead dull brick

My intellect is not enormous
And schooled though I was I am hardly thick
Yet my brains lack the scope to articulate
Such marathons of speech
Even to the role and podium of the dictator
Cursing those who will not obey
Those who fantasise about peace
And vote green


Amidst the park fences I walk early in the morning
I quench my throat with a beaker
I spit out the remains of my temper
I cursed the Bobby
He threatened me with a lock up
I had no choice but to climb down my box
On which I ranted my nasty voice
Now home I internalise the tears
They were seeping into the floorboards
Once the dirty rug had been wetted

I flaunt my tears too often
I rail in the street at those I perceive as trashy humans
I abhor the human race
I challenge those who could kill me
I dream of throwing my body into the river
And choking on pollution
As I sink into a boggy void
My heart crying out for justice
My eyes closing to life
Then up I go from the reverie
I unscrew the brandy
I calm my innermost storm
I drink

A book is being read by eyes which flutter in distress
Crow it is
A very lean volume
Evincing a great existence
Whereby bird can reel
And bird can shovel its own excrement
Then fling it at the complex I would call
A mania borne of dilusioned persecution
A horrible day to day mandanity
Unwashing the grimy pots
Unwashing the caked up body

I thought of myself as a stench
Then needing a quench I soaked my throat again with the bottles brandy
I observed the image of crow
Looked at the balls dangling
Looked at the poor excuse for a pair of wings
And the sturdy columns that are supposed to be his feet

My elbow is beginning to be tormented
As I am leaning on the very bone
I channel the antagonist in me
Onto the screen with finger or thumb
Imprinting myself through the print
Accusing the Bobby again of failing me in my dark hour
He having such gall to accept my word of sorrow
From putting me in the way of the promise of bars
Then voicing the apology acceptance
Goes on his way
While I stand without apology
After such a man of such a team
Are liars and corrupters
As bent as the curve of an arch
Yet powerless I found myself declaiming the word sorry
And hating myself for my dismal zero of power

Too much is this usage
Too much the chemical display
As I vent my powerless voice into the stars
That do not hear
That do not respond
Do not receive

O pretty star
You look like a diamond
Yet to place my foot in and among your environment
I would perish
Yet I still call you a most pretty star
You glint at me from far away past the layer of blue
Past the orb that is prone to its phases
Is prone to make men mad
And engulfs the rocks with a surf
A washing tide thrown against the shore
Which shouts back the colour of the overlooking field some call the sky
Some the heavens
Some the glory of creation
But I a manufactured rendering
A spoil
An eyesore
A patch of seeming innocence
I condemn you into the mire
There I'll watch you be overwhelmed
By the browny mucus spewed up by the dishevelled ground
And might someday I join you
As two we go under the wave

I found a spot
It troubled my flesh
So I burst this very spot
I smashed it
I called the trickle a luxury
It is always a despised need
To be in need

To desire a friendly exchange
Desire a warm body
A wet hole
A shooting from my bulbous tip
All this a need I much despise
But in that drainage I close my eyes
In a second of sensation
Then two eyes open
And perception clears

I curse the woman who made me do it
Who drove me to be a longing to be emptied
I would smear my soot on her face
I'd gather it from the chimney piece
I'd watch as she croaks
As she bends her back double
And drops into the weaving hour of death

Cut down with that they plough the field
But maybe my scope is distortion
And might my brain be a dissolved bit of yarn
Of tissue
Of departments that all have their cause
Their effectual power over the rest
The major system of the anatomy

Who knows what regrets I would have
As I replace the gore dripping weapon back by the double tapped sink?

All influence
All inspired

From black

By crow















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