Britain.

Find an island teetered

On frightened migrants, barrels of oil, 

And African diamonds.

Find a child swathed in red water, 

defiled by the law of the man up top,

pockets heavy, conscience ready

to burn and claw at power

To grovel, devour

To fester in Westminster

the cries of innocents 

talked around, spat on

With self-serving ambivalence

A game of bla...

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“Got 10p for a cup of tea?”

“If you show us where you can get one for that price,

I'll give you a quid”

He never did...

Irregular Apocalypse.

Lonely and irksome.

The bitter glow of jaundice

tears at society's rustic chains,

one tragedy at a time.

“The Freemasons took my children,

they took my baby.”

Now she's hopping magic buses,

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