15 December 2013




Poor Boy looked into the sky and said:

“Oh God, please get me outta here...”

But God did not hear him

The distance


        Heaven and Earth

Being what it is

He was all awkward angles

And nauseous instance

A blunted blade

Drawn through rancid entrails

Expanding ever outward

Into unanswerable questions

Driven into the corner allocated

Silenced at birth by unseen hands

It was more than just the money

(or lack of it)

There was a poverty of spirit

And a quiet sense of shame

That couldn’t be erased

He was a sounding brass

A hollowed out man

One of billions of souls

Stuffed down the crapper

The justice in that

For the moment escaped him


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