Was it  sweet

alienation?

awkward shyness?

or being failed

in-love

dreaming of olive

boughs

romance

and greasy kisses

at the chippy

maybe suburban

gloom

or was God involved?

the blister of

adolesence?

my nervous disposition?

or spending

too much

time in my

bedroom cacoon

on

the estate

locked in thought

on the dole

could i blame?

Magret Thatcher

or listening

to the smiths?

in a box bedroom

waiting to sign on

that fortnight wilderness

of trying to write a song

like stock aiken and waterman

for the top of the pops

was it lack of of gumption?

was it William Blake?

on the Southbank Show

 or the constant daydreaming

at bus-stops?

for a bus journey

of similies

or watching

Barfly on VHS?

or the Dylan thomas

book I liberated

from the mobile

libary or

or seeing the lava

lamps

in

too many pastel

sunsets or

the sheer boredom that

drove me to the

poetry.