He didn’t lie with her until her mortal heart slowed, slowed, slowed, slowed to just a mumble in his big ear His yawn a tunnel through time A window too Took respite in a cave to ease his arthritic thumb…

A white boy born into a poor family must find it hard to understand the idea of white privilege A black boy born into a poor family must find it hard to understand racism racism is pain unheard and unwitnessed…

Oh here’s to Brighton A town that says ‘do your worst’ Says here’s to the hug that won’t let go first, taking the sting out of signal failure at Three Bridges Says here’s to the archers and all the weekend…

years months days hours wide eyed and wet in the middle flooding the grass with grim reaped tears through a voice of an angel down the farm wet shuddering despair full to the ear’s brim every minor chord of gutting…