Men don’t talk
Because walking
Is enough to seem
Human. Not just for
Christmas, you must
Keep them for life.
A fact they detest, at
Best they would be TV
Screens, no better yet –
TV dinner! Eat but don’t
Look, pleased but please
Don’t see Me Foot Down
I’m The Man Him Thee
Barbed wire crown on
Cherub head or brick
Wall that smells like
….. Joop Homme?
He is not the wall,
He is the egg – spinning there
On top. A tightrope walker up
To his eyes in credit card debt,
Fries in the pan like tv static
Or bleeds from the brain and
Runs due south out a peach
Bruise mouth. My friends
Don’t die on the news,
They die in the dark. It could
Happen to a pavement, maybe
Late night with a broken heart –
It happens in bottles or the bookies
And always with bars bolted over teeth
But you can still see the rot. A dentist
Would say tooth decay, I beg
You to talk to me. Godly and
Tender, wretched and lonely –
Who needs heaven when
I’m here with my homies.
There are fig trees and factories 