Going nowhere going somewhere, keep walking it’s an alternative job kick, the wideboys and poverty payers this country needs more than players, in the game of workers as counters divide and spread the one thing forgotten when your out of luck it’s all gone rotten like the tomatoes, and you will not eat and so hunger stalks you, pray for 1983 and the giro days it was simpler back then
Like a Grazing Bovine
Me to mine my thoughts need an exhaustive cleaning too much dirt can’t live without the purity I seek upon new pasture like a grazing bovine I need new pasture so I can chew things over til I decide how to survive and indeed I ask myself is it worth it as the bastards grind me down or try they won’t succeed tell that to I’ll the universal force is on the move
Rocket in the Vase
Rocket in the vase, in my bedroom, in the dead of night. My long curtains partially open I lay popped up it is silent. I am still, is this real if not I need a transmission. I have a task I’m told in the inner ear I have to go to Mars and fast, news for earth arriving soon I must bring it back so I downsize, I uncover the rocket in a vase tiddly me climbs with a miniature ladder through the door of my rocket in the vase, the roof parts somehow woosh I am gone and beyond I go, the roof closes and the street in England is unaware.
Will You Love Me
Will you love me away for a day, and night in any way. Today or another day there is a cure, for your thoughts are pure. I know of this, but these are vain thoughts of older males, as the dust settles your trying to find your shine, or clean a window pane as the gust of wind blows, I walk past you every day, you do not know my name and I ask if only for a day if we went away, shyness cripples me I dare not ask, and so I walk past, a thousand memories of what could of been with you are now gone.
The Little Lantern Peoples of Hanger Hill
The Little Lantern Peoples of Hanger Hill, we are now approaching the year three thousand, many world downturns later and the fashioned nature of the time is producing smaller peoples of what is left of a world, what is left of houses is little more than rubble to hide in. Food is a combination of the wild fayre, wild veg, and disheveled crumble. Warehousing full of water-soluble dry packet foods, water is now wells and dysentery is high. Public health down to the volunteer medical people now fighting over supplies. But there is a strange phenomenon upon a mountain hill on the edge of the Lake District or more correctly the edge of the North Yorkshire hills. It is a disused gliding school hanger with its sliding doors half-open upon a metal beam in the far corner of this hanger up to a thousand paraffin lanterns can be seen one small knobbly kneed strange human form can be seen standing in front of this lantern keeping warm as it states into this ok light and heated device most primitive. By eight PM a procession of stunted shadowy figures can be seen trailing toward the grey rusting building each being picks a now lit lantern and proceeds to form a circle within the hanger waffled chit chat I observe and then there is the whistle and shaped being called pointed hand and it’s hand goes through a gap in the grey hanger door to alight upon a higher hill. The thousand little lantern peoples must prepare so in procession lamps on they waddled out the big hanger door toward an Auric horn higher up the trail glowing deep and moaning in sound and steam the little lantern people marched in a train of light to the Auric horn.