i have a new verse out today – the text was previously published in edge of humanity magazine, so please check that out if you haven’t already (see link below). now live on youtube, spotify, etc.
every coincidental couple share or will share a day
(assuming all live lives that lap over and aside)
when one is either twice or half as old as their partner.
we only live in relation to each other:
brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, children we are all
in second place again, lo siento, i feel your pain
then a vow: to talk much more on the telephone
hazy jane mountain range and a mouthful of blood
the chip shop salt and vinegar on the edge of the breeze
decline is the consequence of a millennium without conquest
bring all ye visigoths, only the sack of london can save us now
sometimes perspective illuminates
sunny convalescence; can i modify my betrayed reaction?
is there space for love without condition between event and response?
the universe is comprised of information thoughts are but ephemeral forms
deleted from the records for eternity, locked within an evanescent system
but are some things unforgivable?
let’s hope good souls can hold a grudge with compassion.
chorus
have you tried the toblerone, feckless bairn?
it’s abysmally pricey, but so is everything else
i have a theory that brexit is the effective sack of london, by hitler
different, but the same
this bipolar love hurts so much round infatuated hertz
bevvy bivouac, coke and jack in the sack
i read about his suicide on teletext in the 90s
a poet tortured, bill teller of the apple orchard
never socrates unsatisfied nor pig in shit:
we are socrates in pig shit, always and 4 real.
i cut a lana del rey tattoo into my arm, is that self harm?
each generation must make the material their own
smell tomato paste and cheddar, my da’s cooking, my home
a feeling of disconnection between body and homunculus
post-prandial down-dumpsy meek remainderman rain run
ink on scar tissue, perineum to the sun
this isn’t a cover up, the red rose, the guerilla’s fist
i am a loaf of bread, origami, a process
in purgatory every pain and every pleasure you caused will be inflicted back
and you will judge yourself
getting there—a tired prayer to monotony
four goes on the playstation then i eat the whole bloody toblerone
all that’s left is our dismal materiel
we all rely on the good souls who forgive us
chorus
have you tried the toblerone, feckless bairn?
it’s abysmally pricey, but so is everything else
i have a theory that brexit is the sack of london, by hitler
different, but the same
the love epochal. n.n. benn 