Men At Work

Words suddenly seem weaker than me, I need am image to be reckoned with

I tried to draw a fist of defiance but ended up with something that looked nothing like a fist. In fact, it did not look like anything except maybe a foot. Perhaps I should just stick with the words. I hate this, I hate that, this confuses me, this is obvious deception, do they think I was born fucking yesterday?

I need more locks. I need CCTV. And this is only to protect me. not to take me forwards anywhere. If anything is stopping its redrawing the maps when some FUCKING WIERDO WHO DOESNT KNOW HES BORN and his brother turn up and start shouting the odds.Fucking assholes.

Fucking idiots. Fucking low brow wierdo.

Can I finish yet? Are you entertained? Am I not merciful? (the last one was a joke:-)

Fucking Silmarillion, Fucking Television, Fucking…

Don’t ask.

Just cook me fucking dinner bitch.

And get down on your fucking knees.

I want to show you the breeze.

Open your mouth wide

and feel it on your teeth fillings

This is the cold wind of change and on it is what I am

Now get up and get me some Jam.

For my sandwich Of Jam and HamBoneTaramasalata

I will not stick to the fucking knitting

Fuck you and the boat you rode in on

I will continue to test myself, to expand my boundaries

to experiment, to explore, to find new writing ground.

Now crawl back under your drone cover there’s men at work.



Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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