write like a steppen-dog
barking
the ripped missed decades like
rutting and pissing alleys
growling out war
by
the empty beef tins
dwelling unhealthy
on the scream headlines
barking
in
a
dusty typing room
hearing and sympathising
with
the
drunkards
fighting out in the garage
forecourts
-
i’m home now
safe now
and in my cave/bunkered down with paper and a pen
my
sick still
drying on the bike frame
locked up downstairs
-
some future must be waiting behind
locked doors of grandparent visits
and
kitchen births – the past
empty house/fluff balls blow over the cracked brown
tiles
i drink wine there
and
badly decorate
watching
my new
hand-me-down
TV
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