Saturday, 21 August 2010


Mostly condemned
to hide behind masks,
brainbox’s webs,
inside the cupboard,
under the bed:

forgotten language
hermetically sealed
in green plastic bottles,
unfizzing and screwed,
too knackered for battle.

Long gone, the power
of fireworks and passion,
long out of fashion,
old ways of working
cry ‘Come on then, crack on!’

but when we explode
with a roar to the eyeball;
no longer a freakshow
of anger, or fearful,
but joyful, sweet, whole.

No comments:

Post a Comment