BASTARD TIME

to be times plaything washed with invisible strings

you sink like dangerous pictures in the cold lake

to pay all day and be good but still to fall ill

sitting silent in the sick café until late 

to be the last wolf left making a break for home

fighting for breath in bastard time’s fierce wake

to be cut loose again by yesterdays dark tide

you wither with a shiver at the ugly show

to wait under rain falling down frowning

you realize you have no idea which way to go

to be the soft strangers linear vessel 

contradicted and confirmed in epic flow

to wake the weights of the world waxing lyrical

you hear a stealthy song repeat in your synapse

to be watch watching with the parasite and thief

your time just tick-tocks by as disease in relapse

to look for any lazy lingering logic

while subjective time will not conceive of collapse

to love and feed the tight thief’s representation

you expertly decorate the hard parasite

to learn helpless trapped in teaching consequence

you flex tired muscles ready for the blind fight

to spin it’s various warm circles competent

spinning you too in the cold wind of solo flight

to secrete excretions in the childhood garden

you take the cold bastard with you on the night tiles

to lie and thrive and survive and get nowhere still

you travel a distance of much more than just miles

to be a double agent in streets of monsters

the hard parasite conducts you with finite smiles

to see old actors twice acting fresh and brand new

you enjoy their art in a line where hard time rules

to have and feed hope and freedom hot and frozen 

you still dream of empty horror when hard time falls 

to be indisposed and bold then sold out cold

dribbling and giggling as the stream of science calls

to wait fruitless head resting cold on the clear pane 

you are thinking in seconds ticking like quick waste 

to see each manmade segment is no soft warm prize

that keeps a bright lemon light shining on your face

to be analogue in this green digital age 

cannot sway the straight parasite of childhood’s haste

to survive the stigma in the sly stale morning

you talk repetition in the strange teeming streets

to wait alone childish in the wet rain garden

you play with time by feeling yesterday’s sad feats

to hear your NHS coda playing at dawn

you will your watch away waiting for heavens heat