The girl queen of the purple children
Crowned with the hesitation
Of a whole forgotten generation
Contributing to the passed-on efforts
From a sofa lime green
Violently marked as the throne of guilt
So cunning, deep
A lingering wave of rescued solitude
Sleeping on a black cat so ruined
And ages old cutting marks
In her shivering ghostly arms
Fragile
From inside out so vaguely
Hanging wired from the threads
To the outside world
The true meaning of Dreams
Is not to be an awesome song about mourning
But to break free from scars so deep
To be useful
A fully anchored functional act
In an era of traders
Finders keepers
Bounders kneelers
All kinds of beggars so desperate
Mad!
In the world of shuttering
In its ups
and downs
This is a firm bid
For the bad!
IN THIS UNIVERSE
The true meaning of laptop is
The endless works of happiness
Portable work space
An office always in hand
Clean in the absence of ink, dust
Old golden rust
Reachable, manifestable, indestructible
A flow of never ending portraits
Delivered straight to your doors
Depiction of the entities so sad
Today can be found
The missing link
Between machine and the man
In the evenings there was finally time
For Patty to come out and play in the wilds
A special song played by the fire
The fall song
Floundering into the deep middle air
Patty tangling himself into
An orange chiffon scarf so wide
Finding the sorrows old
Fading away with the back seat yeah
Way back when flannelled yet untangled
Strictly forbidding me to listening to the howls
Said the others could not move the soul of ours
The evaluators of this divine comedy who are they?
Powerful spells and wisdoms
So carelessly thrown
Poured from a mason jar to another
Specialization
Doesn’t really matter no more
How could someone
With as powerful voice as his’
Be so uncertain about herself?
The upward trajectory of the unwashed hair
Lies in the middle of this November fair
Treated like a thief in the cold autumn air
Inspectors as cold as the right-wing ice
Wants you to ban the basic human rights
Walking past a man
Selling on top of some old hatches
Just there, down the road
Selling old verses down the road
Black hat covered in smoke of the notorious street
“Hard times, eh?” he asks
And out of pure sympathy for me
Reveals his teeth rotten into gold
Somewhere in the South Pole
Lonely times ago
So I sit down near the winds
On the rooftop where the past generations were bought
As happy as into silent
But what it comes to us
Being sold as the new born generation X of Anti-Christs
Feeding our parent’s peer-intensified musings of superiority
Conspiring in their office dens
Like men rather not the mice
The only question left is
“How much does it cost
To keep one generation of slaves alive?”
THE THINGS MY BOYFRIEND ONCE SAID
Just a day after me
Being dug up again
From those god damn wedding dreams
Sat on an orange sofa peel
My boyfriend went on and said
As if being in a dream;
Imagine if Jim Morrison
Was the one after a party to never leave
Just sitting there
In the living room floor
So cosy (and almost neat)
Eating your only cereal bowl clean
Explaining the dwell away
With a nightly encounter in a cave
High off at the back of an eagle
So desperate on black magic
(And occasional joints of weed)
CAMP DELICIOUS
On the year
The notorious Trump won
My dad taught me
To take pictures of the soul of the time
With a 1970’s version of Polaroid
Soon we moved on, though
On a smaller flat containing more serious matters
Of film and lightning
Capturing the moments
Of the neighbouring back door darlings
Just moments before leaving
Mom said
That it had inevitably turned
Our small worlds upside down
When all we really did was
Transform the toilet
From a pink oasis to darkroom
Now negatives are constantly flying around
In the company of neatly rinsed clothes
All hanging from one unit of washing line
When they were handing down the award
I thought; wow
I must have inherited something more powerful
Than just curly hair
That looks like after a very lucky run
From the claws of a whole Jurassic Park
THE BATTLE BETWEEN THE CLEANER AND THE COOK
It was a rather unfortunate bean;
The one that happened to slip
And drip
From a toast onto Jim’s floor
Usually so neat
Missing his toe with an inch
Staining his old silk carpet
Brought to England
By the waves of post-colonialism;
King and the Queen
But this was a trickier ordeal
A battle of the tricky bean
And the lady of the house
Not taking any order’s from
Her husband
Being so keen
On the orange breakfast bean
That happily sat on the toast of the Master chef
(And not the person who actually cleans…)
Mysterious Yellow 