Ring any bells?
The nineties… blag prosody.
Smooth skin rancorous streets, Single bed
You know it best.
2016 student of the avant-garde life award for best trousers
Pass it off as your own
Advertising will never notice
Too wound up in itself to care about me
dancing in the street.
Yeah. I dance too. Watch me move.
Goodnight. See you. Start ignition.
Pull away slowly.
Reverse into that space over there.
Mirror signal, reverse.
Looking at you
£10 pounds an hour
Maybe? £20 £50 whatever you can do
Dinner ready at six used matchstick and custard
Good enough for Satan is good enough for me.
Hello, Britain! Are you comfy?
Phone 0208 555222. It could be you!
You’ll never know.
Prick that boil, lance that bunion, peel that onion.
Chop that wood in two.
Put in the wood burner stove and paint your ceilings to reflect the glow
at the two of you making plans for a holiday.
Somewhere new. Somewhere golden, like you.
Put the kettle on. Are you making us a brew?
Bring out the biscuits too. This one is me and that one is you.
No, I disagree. That one is me and this one is you.
Dunk a bunk in bed. Nuff said.
They go away to play.
I’m here alone musical bone, changing shape
changing like a stranger who wants to entertain me
to what end I wonder. My money at a gig. Can he be trusted?
What about me? Don’t I have ambitions musically?
A piece to honour Hallelujah! And Leonard Cohen
E-A-D-G-B-E tap tap tap. I need an acoustic for that.
From a time before me. Era. Cat in the Hat. Gone.
Just a little tune. Self-effacing at that. Faith and life.
Gone like that. In cosmic time the blink of an eye.
Golden discs head into the stars.
Security Gates Remote Control, Swimming pool
I could do that thought I! Sunshine!
Police Knocking on the door asking do I know this girl?