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
Without?
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
Everywhere
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
Removed
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
Death
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
Lockdown
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
