fire

the only thing
that trickles down.
misery

kick sand at giants
spit in their faces and laugh.
run like hell let loose.

marathon of hoops
technobable contortions
living life harder.

a formal inquest
into this bad recession.
bankers are gangsters.

the anger of some
splits the quiet night in two.
beating the day
red black and blue.

the compounding interest
requiring its pound of flesh
the beggars and thieves
upsetting the creche.

my mother can’t help
she’s buried six feet under
and my father’s drunk
throwing lightning bolts at thunder.

the olympians are now gone
left olympus in a pile of tatters
and the man i could have been
now insanely natters.

so i’ll take my leave
and now bid you adieu
i’ve done what i could
with this rotten pile of wood.

it’s up to the maggots now
and the termites too
i’ve given everything i had
and more when i was a lad.

but the trials of job
compiled upon my tribulations
that once offered a sort of solution
now require nothing if not a revolution.

a shard of sky
severs my grey mood.
new is the feeling.