Fish fingers

My mother worked on an airfield
At the end of world-war two
He watched the plane land in flame
Out of the bright, bright blue

I that good enough for you?
Hat more can I do?
Fly the plane that crashed
Burn to death at last?

The history of the war
I written in memories
That melt like bread and dripping
In the houses of the poor

I’m wondering about you
And I don’t know what to
There’ something sad about you
And there’s nothing I can do

Handle bars and handle holds
They put them everywhere
But I cannot find a handle hold on you

You’ve been born a long time
Please come from behind ?
But with a hook inside your egg
How can you escape from
What’s inside your head

You ran as fast as lightning
Like a bullet from a gun
And landed in the system

Your peeling skin is crying
Wanting to tell the truth
I think your heart is peeling
You’ve gone back to the doll’s house?

It’s only by remote control
That I found the strength
It’s only by coincidence
I got on your wavelength

It’s like to see a flower die
Please tell me why, tell me why?

You’ve got to respond
You’ve got to respond
Don’t hide in your self-pity
And respond
It’s the common strength of lovers
To respond

People, food
Who can trust them?
Packaged in cardboard

People in cheap packaging
Food that has no soul

In cardboard boxes
People and food
Manufactured mouthfuls

People are fish fingers
In boxes
Dusted with bread crumbs

There’s a great factory
On the earth
Manufacturing people

Bland white fish fingers
Mass production
Society is a factory

I am exhausted
I am cut out from a fish
A precise white coffin

I am exhausted
I am dead
I am a fish finger

Little button eyes
Pulled out
Little fish mouth

No tail, no fins
No nothing

I am exhausted
I am a white fish finger
In a freezer

It is the church
Of the middle class

With car tyres
Hung on the walls

The stained glass windows
Depict colourful advertisements

The priest
Delivers rich home cooking

In their minds
They want to serve

A country
That isn’t good enough

Where is God they say
He is editing a newspaper

They’re given free polish
For their souls

Apply this
To your appendix

Is a life insurance contract

Life is
A renewable trauma

Sometimes I am in motion
Like a rock
Rolling down a mountain

The crash produces stars

My soul
As thin as cellophane
Comes close
To being recycled

I pick the shark teeth
Out of my ghost

I’m a rolling slag heap
Of tears and rocks

I am asleep in a storm
With a heart under six feet of snow

Is a new photo
Of humankind

An anatomy
For a student coroner

The living
Go dancing
In the abandoned house
Like sprats

In a lockdown
Photograph album
You know nobody
There are no faces

True distances
Appear as a pathway
For sleepwalkers

The common place
Is moving into
A new darkness

I have been wrong
Wrong with prophesy
Wrong ith words

Rip me open
And stuff me full of lightning

I have been wrong
Wrong on the phone
Wrong on the recording

Burn my body
Disinfect my soul

I have been wrong
Truth tells me so
I am wrong to be me
There is no room at the inn
For happiness

The world moves in a circle
On broken teeth

Who is alive?
Who is dead?

Who’s shop is empty
Who’s bed has not been slept in?

There are advantages to take
Shoes to fill

Sweep away the tears
Of your neighbours

And walk on the shoulders
Of ghosts

I got my garage hook
But I do not have a garage

There is a girl I love
But I do not have a marriage

You make me hard
You make me cold
You make me hard
You make me bold

And I’ll never be the person I once was

I had a friend
In a music box

With the sunken eyes
Of an Italian criminal
In a silent movie

2 thoughts on “Fish fingers

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