Playing doctors and nurses on the prison ship, Redemption.

9204269968_c089ffea7f_o

A lamp trains tight on an exposed cortex,
with the patient unwired, his top come off,
to hee-haw laughter from the surgeon,
As a slack-jawed guard slides underneath.
His holstered gun wants hands to fire it.
The knife stuck in his gut put paid to that.
Hammering at the airlock door the guards
aint close to breaking is futile as the patient’s
chances. Once he’s down, they’ll all be done.
Comes a screaming, wreckage, and the stars.

Playing doctors and nurses on the prison ship, Redemption.

Blood on the dancefloor

7008218345_766a84f53d_o

Keegan says
The depth
Of the killing
Is the effective range
Of the most
Prevalent weapon,
So where should I
Sit in this fiesta?
Can I cut
The barbed wire tongues,
Escape
From cold dips,
Spandau Ballet
Hits,
The no-ones
No-one dances with,
Who medicate in beer or silence?
Within the centre,
A wit fires off.
Cue raucous acid laughter.
Cue the next song.

Blood on the dancefloor

Election 2015

Truth this into soundbites,
On-message, and forceful,
With pauses for clapping,
And podium postures.

Distaste is de rigueur
Election year. I favour
The simple – a smile
for the camera.

Invite the long-standing
onstage for ovations,
Secured by their shame,
Locked in classified records.

Let’s talk of our future,
Don’t dwell on our actions.
Now, be a good boy, do your
lines, see the madam.

Election 2015