Self imposed hermitude

in response

to the spreading

of the self-sanctified

across all the spaces

that were not theirs

creating trenches

and loyalties

there are no sides

just mirrors

there is no game

just an act

telling stories

spinning yarns


between yourselves

ignored the need

of a needy friend

huddled around

a vampire instead


breeds contempt



you speak of ideology

of being outspoken

whilst you expand

into others places

ever spent

two seconds

thinking maybe

the problem is within

Of course not

that would require

seeing beyond

the end of your own nose

which you cut off

when you cut friends out

and get stuck

in a quagmire

a bed you made

stealing all the duvet

and leaving

everyone cold

no heart

no art

childish boys

and wet farts


Coining Phases

We’re supposed to be holding power to account.

But we’re hoarding power in our current account.

Placated with pewter penny pieces.

Tokens, little more than gestures.

We’re being flipped the bird as we flip the coin.

Decisions and outcomes decided

by metal images of the queen.

It’s fucking obscene.

Her Majesties Revenue & Customs.

Her Majesties Prisons.

Her Majesties Armed Forces.

Her Majesty isn’t majestical.

It’s a magical mask over a load of testicles.

We’re strong armed into a love of power.

We should be sprinting to the power of love.

Love of craft,

Love of art,

Love of a person,

Love of Love.

But it’s just lust.

No more trust.

Our bodies trussed.

Even though we’ve sussed

Out the ruse.

But we choose

not to out ourselves

as moneyqueer,

and live in financial fear.

We shouldn’t make money our cum

cos that ain’t love, it’s zero sum.

We pray to each other.

We pray for each other.

We shouldn’t prey

on each other.

Biting our own heads off

after we fuck ourselves over.

Mantis-like monetary masturbation.

Mannish-like momentary mastication.

As we chew over

those we do over.

Starting from scratch card

cos life is a gamble.

Let’s coin a new phase,

Print a new face,

Reinvent this place,

and enjoy the taste

of a humane race.

In a good humoured space,

No more queens face.

No more stamps of authority.

No more 1st and 2nd class

to lick from the floor.

Fight for the right to parle.

No more tricks meant for the parlour.

No more tricks of parliament,

Our ability for choice is heaven sent

but after 17 we’re spent.

When we grow up

and get grown in,

self-reflection becomes sin

and we birth our own twin.

A shadow of ourselves

wrapped in a prior self.

The priory is a cell

holding us back.

Hold me back,

cos I’m on the attack

and it’s tacky

cos it’ll stick like glue.


for the proletariat.

Cos greed is a socially transmitted disease.

we’re told the market made us freed,

but the range of the roost

needs a boost.

The signal

seems singular

a teeming singularity

creating animosity.

We scream the call of the first world country

‘but what about me?’

What about you?!

What about we?

Take off your white picket glasses

and really see.


I’m cutting nooselike ties that cling,

This is windsor (k)not the way to do things.

You’ve got your view all royally fucked

but there’s a New Royal in town, cluck cluck cuck.

Chicken littles, I’ll let you eat your cake

and sup your coffee.

You can wank each other off

at your lame little committee.

I’m burning like a comet,

I’m rocking round the clock.

You’re shit

outta luck.

This cloverfield

has to (4) leave,

you better believe

the show’s over.

Take a bow

and take off.

The great shitty shake off

whilst they flake out.

Crusty crustaceans

always walking sideways,

a waking sleep walk,

a nightmare sheepwalk.

This shepard’s flock

gives you flack.

It’s worse than smack

being a power junkie.

Type writer monkey

depressing keys.

Doesn’t impress me

you’re testing me.

Talking testis.

Like tetris,

I’ll block the shit out of you

and the crock

that you spew.

Scatting, not like jazz though

there’s no improv flow.

It’s a no go,

a no show.

So fast at first

but now so slow.

Taking your time

and taking the piss

I don’t have

the time for this.

See you later

maybe never.

Maybe when it’s fairer weather

It’s kinda like the end of Batman Forever.

When too many coins

confuse Two-Face.

I’m coining new phrases,

whilst you mint old faces.

Undead mouths,

let them rest in pieces.