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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The Song Of The Wandering

In darkness deeper than the mine
where, once, I scraped my fingers to the bone
a silver seam of moonlight
breaks across the boiling blackness
and I let those self same fingers
idly trail in the cold Mediterranean.
I dream of the golden sunlight
left behind in the dust, distress and bullets.

That was then and this is now.
The churning sea, the angry orders
s...

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