Office Life

Jokes far worse than Dilbert

make my face contort like Gilbert Grape;

squinting, blinking, mouth agape.

A tape recording on repeat

the same jokes start to grate.

Office life and office people,

officially lifeless, dull bulb people.

Computer screens and squinting eyes,

tea breaks and a slow demise.

Thirty years in the same shit job

that you pretend is important

and you pretend you love.

Thirty years in the same shit job

that you pretend has meaning,

and you pretend you love.

I could repeat it forever

like you repeat every day

what you do repeatedly

for the rest of your days.

Office people, office life,

going home to your little wife.

Words to file,

words not to be seen,

words to file

that don’t mean a thing.

Words to me are like oxygen

and black print hidden for twenty years

is a waste of air.

The green house effect

to be direct is the butterfly effect.

For every book a tree loses a limb

and the death of creativity starts to begin.

Office life and office people,

officially lifeless, dull, dull people.

Office life and office people,

lose their dreams to richer people.

Thirty years in the same shit job

that you pretend has meaning,

that you pretend you love.

Thirty years in the same shit job,

that you pretend has meaning,

that you don’t really love.

Writers Block

Writers block

caused by censorship,

a swing of the hip

and a wagging of the finger.

This writers block lingers

so I let the middle finger linger

and turn it upright

for in this plain sight

is a poet

writing about anything and everything,

engraving and saving

the memory of the world

that surrounds me.

O, I love you Ali.

O, Ali I love you.

I thought I’d marry you,

be with you and care for you

but you broke my heart in two.

Why do some people say

life is better off that way?

Being alone and being gay

is harder than alone and straight.

O, I love you Ali.

O, Ali I love you.

Really thought I’d marry you

but you ripped my heart in two,

really thought I’d marry you…

Why do some people say

you’re better off alone and gay,

dirty stop outs play away

eating out new muff each day.

O, I love you Ali.

O, Ali I love you.

I love your heart and arse and boobies too.

Really thought I’d marry you

but you ripped my heart in two…

Moonlight

I’ve got a secret

I can’t tell you.

You have secret

that expels you.

I’ve got a secret

that I tell you.

You hear my secret

and I fall through.

I’m in the darkness,

’cause I told you.

You’re in the darkness

and you hide you.

I’m in the darkness,

I reach for you.

You’re in the darkness,

I can’t find you.

In normal darkness

I would hold you.

In normal darkness

I would fuck you.

In normal moonlight

I would hold you.

In normal moonlight

I would love you.

In this new moonlight

the moon’s crushed you.

In this new moonlight,

the lights burn you.

In this new moonlight

the eyes hold you.

In this new moonlight

the court’s taught you.

In this new moonlight

it expels you.

In this new moonlight

the light sees you.

In this new moonlight

I truly see you.

In this new moonlight

I truly see you.

In this new moonlight

you are just you.

In this new moonlight

I still love you.

In this new moonlight

I still love you.

Monkeys In the Back Room

Monkeys in the back room

making pastry skin,

talcing it to make it paler

and slicing in wet grins.

Monkeys in the back room

get out some currants and some grease

they slather on the ointment

and create currant S.T.D’s.

Monkeys in the back room

they created AID’S.

It’s the planet of the apes now

you monkey bummed and now you pay.

Monkeys in the back room

cooking up a nice surprise.

STD’S and foaming rabies

all add to our demise.

Monkeys in the back room

fighting a new war,

putting currants on the cocks

of the greedy and the poor.

Monkeys in the back room

gonna make us pay.

Monkeys in the back room

gonna kill us all today.

Passion

Passion,

what is passion?

To Bratz it is a passion for fashion

but for me, it’s deep.

It’s sleep,

but it’s you sleeping next to me,

being with me,

day in, day out.

It’s you, Ali.

It’s the bongo beat of her heart.

It starts,

it beats, it barks for me.

Animalistic,

I bite and it eat whole.

I slip in her skin,

I greet her soul.

It’s the beat of her heart;

we are sinners.

We are not each others firsts

but to this we’re beginners.

You’re a keeper,

you’re a winner,

you’re my nightly dinner,

not fellatio, cunnilingus,

cum on my fingers,

entrench them and drench them

in who you are and what’s inside you.

You’re you.

You’re you.

And I’m inside you.

We are circles,

flowers,

spurting and squirting,

your vagina sneezes and squeezes me.

It gives my fingers a hug

then lets go,

your heart slows,

glowing with the radiation

of post coital love.

This mini death

is not enough

so we do it again

and again.

The circle doesn’t end.

Make Tea Not War.

Houses close together,

no room for real territory,

its derogatory

in a ten storey flat

surrounded by rats.

They’re the King of your castle.

It’s a farce. All these cars

to drive short journeys to places

with smaller spaces.

You’ve got your shoes,

you’ve got your laces,

tie them and go.

Let your muscles grow,

we’re so slow,

losing control of our feet.

Of the beats within us.

Roxette said to listen to your heart,

it’s a start, our natural rhythm

is dwindling and hinders

the fire to cinders.

A fires gone out

so what’s it about?

Life.

A man walks through Waterloo

station with the patience

and honour of God’s angels.

His angle was all right.

He was healthy and slight,

he was black, all in white

and he carried a bag.

He sang.

He sang for God and Jesus

and we all thought:

Jesus he is good,

with food for thought.

He caught us in a moment

of simple joy and serenity.

Serenity and peace.

I don’t want to be a preacher

and I won’t preach to you,

beseech you

or beg of you not to pray to God

but to pray for us.

To pray for change,

for us to say “I forgive us,

let’s start again,

let’s be friends.

Let’s start with Hello’s.

We’ll take it slow.

Cold straight to hot

can be fatal.

I’m not asking for passion,

presentation and charm.

Let’s not do harm.

Nice, nice, nice,

not sugar and spice.

It’s not the 60′s any more

but darling, let’s make tea not war.