We make a break for it
Say our goodbyes quickly
And then it’s off
into the mustard sky night
Sometimes
I am a chicken head
waiting to separate from it’s body
So much less to worry about
All the wasted hours
Walking from place to place
The sore muscles
The stretching
Our heroes for the night
are a pack of boy musicians
They save us from the war
Of office politics
And High Blood Pressure
Sometimes
I am a building ledge talker downer
I Basque in the simplicity
Things always go one of two ways
I spend my nights flip flopping
On the purpose of my existence
I am a luxury
I am a necessity
I give purpose
I have purpose
I am marsh land
Flooded with things
Slipping into the cold dark mud
An ageless place for
Things without eyes
To be
Or not to be
No questions asked
Just leave notch on the bedpost
And Before you go
leave a rainbow in the bog
For the next sad shitter
(This poem was originally recited at The Rocking Chair on October 21, 2014 in Sheffield, UK)
Schwervon! 