Do I fear you if the crude fact is exact?
In the exactitude of being rude about attitude
When the lyric and the ode are so small
To the point of meaning at the end of my nose.

Tolls are on bridges for the talk of a long marathon of wife and child
Redressing the imbalance of Disney in Paris for the eagle-eyed mindfulness
Of temperate investment in a European affair
Not being so easy money to espy the changing fashions of integrated madness.

Love me now, again, awhile & let’s sing of Krishna and lonely dancing styles
For he is learned of a race so profound
To have conditioned Indian women for romance that is not brown.

Again. To the step. Let’s have one more from Spike Lee:
What is the perfect Fall for a sonagram from thee?
Your God gave you a Father and your sons are gangs with delinquents:
Let me catch up on some demographic bliss with Theresa May.

When the 1980s got spent, one day at a time,
Eckhart Tolle’s crime – Now is when I say Gibraltar –
My friend’s wife’s client enlightens a halter neck.
What the heck? And can you inspect a reject of John Singleton’s assured fashion?

Please sit on the mat. Question that. I’m a minority report
Before I am a law in Tort. Your children know you before a clue
About the crown in courts that I paid to resort to for a career
And my fears of economic disaster when you became my black master.

Boss. Man. Lonely friend. Do that again when I am worth my end.
Yours is not the Christian or the NHS: Jesus gave us his very best.
A Pharoah is but a holiday to an equipped man
Socrates is but some bytes in your M&S land.

Was it my degree and loss of millionaire ambition?
Or was it your S.P. and wife with her child’s A-Level revision?
In such darkness made up like the colour of your face
How much Satanism is coming for the end of your disgrace.

So dunk with Jordan at 92, this is not a time for the Buddha in you
You don’t like The Bhagavad Gita and Krishna is a clown
First fists again with fast opposable thumbs to keep Olympians down,
Quick runner, unopposable leader, what is the land mass of Christian true?

> PJ Harvey >>>>

This is the time of CoVid and wisdom
So lend me some fears and lyrics to dis them?
What is option when China is not Africa
And who started the disease when all I heard was black laughter?

AI Summary

This poem wrestles with power, identity, and the fear of being mis-seen or mis-defined in a world shaped by race, religion, masculinity, and cultural expectation. You move through Krishna, Spike Lee, Theresa May, Eckhart Tolle, John Singleton, Socrates, Michael Jordan, PJ Harvey, CoVid, China, Africa — not as random references, but as symbols of the forces that have shaped your sense of self: spiritual traditions, Black culture, British politics, American cinema, global crises, and the weight of history.

The emotional core is the speaker’s struggle with being positioned — by society, by race, by class, by family, by religion, by politics. The poem keeps asking: “Who am I when everyone else is trying to define me?”

There is anger, humour, shame, pride, confusion, and defiance all braided together. You critique spiritual clichés (“Buddha in you”), racialised expectations (“black master”), cultural appropriation, political hypocrisy, and the way masculinity gets distorted by sport, violence, and competition.

The poem also exposes the absurdity of modern identity politics, where people are reduced to categories, stereotypes, or headlines. You push back against that reduction — sometimes sharply, sometimes painfully — because you’re trying to reclaim your own narrative from the noise.

The final lines bring the poem into the present: CoVid, global blame, misinformation, fear, and the way race gets weaponised in crises. The poem ends not with an answer but with a challenge: How do we speak truth in a world full of distortion?

Crude Markets

Control
Escape
Exit The Matrix like a draping curtain
Dividing the wall between me and reality.
Shift button
Undress the need to impress
The urgency for rapidity between me
And the next girl between the sheets.

We don’t mean to move too quickly
The screen keeps us safe apart
But if purdah is a burkini tomorrow
Then how can I be Allah’s art?
You said, he said, is why I play by myself
And my health is my wealth when the plane flew by stealth:
Nothing is certain if Buddha knows my curtailing
And an offside foul after a right wing run
For the ball not into touch
And what means so much to me,
Sport is not cause over the universe.

Online gaming is not the worst thing to war over with verses
Do you curse when you can’t score
Or is it a handle on the door (again)
And an easy fire, for the lamest hire
Of a beautiful Beau I admired with a compassionate glow…
… Goal Lazio! He sang: Gaaaaaooooooooooool!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And my poem hung it’s head
Now a tramp is begging with bowls:
Are your symmetry so fear’d?
Num lock
Pay a numb nuts
Screw some locker room talk
And pot the colours in the baulk.

Why did you keep this from me?
/Typo city.
Do you need a Newspaper to be free?
Then [Space] _______ Out!
I’m legs before Wikipedia
And nothing to shout about
– Like an orgasm – What a spasm

Goals and one shot kills are for and against free markets now
Crude.

AI Summary

This poem explores the tension between control and surrender, both digitally and emotionally. The opening lines use computer keys — Control, Escape, Shift — as metaphors for psychological states: the desire to exit the “Matrix,” to undress expectations, to slow down the urgency of intimacy. The speaker feels caught between online distance and real‑world vulnerability, between purdah and desire, between religious identity and personal longing.

The poem then shifts into the world of sport, gaming, and masculine performance — goals, offside fouls, Lazio chants, one‑shot kills, locker‑room talk. These become symbols of competition, frustration, and the search for validation. The poem critiques how modern masculinity is shaped by screens, games, porn, and online bravado, while the speaker quietly recognises his own sensitivity beneath it.

There’s also a thread of cultural and spiritual confusion: Allah, Buddha, purdah, burkini, stealth planes, contagion, bums on seats. The poem shows how identity becomes fragmented in a world where religion, sexuality, technology, and entertainment all overlap in uncomfortable ways.

The final movement turns toward shame, secrecy, and self‑reflection: typos, newspapers, orgasms, crude markets, the sense of being exposed or misunderstood. The speaker ends in a place of honesty — acknowledging the rawness of desire, the absurdity of modern life, and the difficulty of finding meaning in a world shaped by algorithms and appetites.