Head, please
Your mind
It will be dark
It will wind you up
Electrical, what it stands for
An uncomfortable chair, whistles
Mobility is a smiling mother and
Buffers are three hundred yards
Away and rising
A cru...a cru...a crucifix and
Aluminium ladders are my
Penalty now, the Preston-born kid
Discovering his first Dead bird
Picking at and kicking the
Fast maggot workers is
Now a fading memory, more
Fresh in the mind is the man whose space
I have taken, apologetic at first
Scathing i am now
Of his boom boom conversation
I crouch somewhere else, nearer
To the cut and torn fields
Closer to the invisible Lovers
On top of a vibrating grafitti