Priorities your Ironing!

Song birds are liars.
My stomach has gut rot.
Tea is bitter.
Doors eventually come off their hindges.
Light bulbs flicker.
Poems finally disappoint.
I can’t hear my mother.

In the present time
I lack the artifice
that I so very much desire

a poem that lacks
any structure
or cohesion
is held together
only by suggestion
the intermolecular attraction
of one Imaginative Idea with Another

  • It’s chemistry baby, it works!

24 going on 10:
look at yourself and laugh:
you can barely get out of bed:-
you have no drive for work or money
ideally you would work in a garden
or in a forest but you are too stoned
to even consider doing that right now


WE GO OUT AND PARTY
so we can take photographs
to upload onto myspace.


i can’t grow up
i’m trapped inside an immaturity
help! ahhhh help! i don’t want to die.
dying is shit. you always lose. now, about that growing up thing…


SUPERMARKETS ARE RUBBISH!
They bore food to death…


What shadow lurkith behind thee?
Are you the type of person
who would jump up and down
on a mans head until the blood
come running from his mind
in the middle of a chip shop
for no apparent reason other
than your own animality and
your disgust at the human race?


Remember: Priorities your Ironing!