Anarchy runs through my bones, A sanctuary, a mind set in stone, No worth in a life without purpose, Enough people around me trying to surplus, Without reason or must. Society isn't run from home, We're fed a diet of lies and bad omens, A curfew on our personal time, Cursing those who brave past the line, Fucking with your mind. Sobriety is harshly overrated, When the priority is to...

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Beneath a yawning ambivalent sky

Thynne Street shivers in the early dark

broken bits of Britain stir

and walk out scarf wrapped

coughing like gypsies dead from living

crackles scattered on a floor of frost

where life is a Londis of use-by dates

and mars bar breakfasts bought in haste

choking on the fumes of the bank quay station

fragranced by soap factory smo...

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