When blood blends with grit

that's an end to it. 

Hope dies in the sand

while the fingers of dead hands

reach out to the blast of bombs

while another world looks on

weighing up expediency

decisions far greater yet no nobler

than mere life or death. 

These are easily measured by the mile

under the eyes and ears of drones - 

in the meantime

whi...

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Gone to the wasteland

the jobbing carpenter

with his bag of tools:

hammer chisels saw and rules,

gone too the roll-your-own

flat cap leather shoes

A to Z list of names

gone up in flames. 

Instead a man in an unmarked van

trousers with velcro panels

power tools the smell of pizza

mobile phone with battery on charge

prey to thieves always at large.

Th...

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A cloth cap on the ground inverted

becomes a begging bowl

guarded by a dog whose wants are sparsely served. 

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Imagine a tormentor - a sadist

invisibly at work, and though you have confessed

signed your life away you cannot be rid of him. 

There is no cure, no end to it, only moments of relief

when you can draw breath - and some comfort,

but that tormentor knows all the tricks

he has the permission of your immunity

condemning you like Judas Iscariot.

We call this rheumatoid art...

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