August 22nd, 2016


What's important about Labour coups


Turn face away look closely at the wall
Grouting or craquelure. And do not hear
Dark plane low overhead. Blowtorches sear
Their bastinadoed feet. They owed it all
Pain. Contumaciously refusing to admit
All that they might have done or said or thought.
Do this free-hearted shamed we think you bought.
Plastic clipped wrists on concrete lie ìn shit.
Denounced suspected mistyped on a list.
Decisions right though wrong they prove us tough.
Atrocities. When one side cries. Enough.
Boy blushed when raped gnawed death hole in his wrist.
Spit on your ashpale face. We'll not forget.
That prize you wanted most you'll never get.

A poem about a sort of religious person


Old men that hate young women. Cut their joy
With fester knives or stitch them close with thread
Blood pus and dripping piss. In their grey head
Single green thought. All pleasures cloy

When old save this of taking lust away
Itches their aching thigh. World could be white
If noone sweated moan yearned in the night
Only get children. Cook. Kneel. Sew. Clean. Pray.
But never priest it. Grumble in their beard.
Their will is mocked elsewhere where unclothed dance
Twine kiss stroke touch unthinkable romance
Abominations if they are not feared.
Steal goddess' gifts and all that's not nailed down.
Sworn to God's service and the devil's clown.