Control
Escape
Exit The Matrix like a draping curtain
Dividing the wall between me and reality.
Shift
Button
Play with those loose buttons
And undress the need to impress
The urgency for rapidity between me
And the next girl between the sheets.
These games are replete with definition
But her face misses the cream cake
And some solace for a day at work
When safety catches were on
For the long ride home (without me)
And some dropping bombs –
Play that game free of your boys army
Kicking off at after a quarter past 3
When school is out and the Ball Games begin
For some slam dunking and donuts after dinner
Where the Diner is not free of her shame:
Waffle waitress fame! Claim some onside name
And you can let me out again
To play and score big on the high TV
Where angels play with halos
And heaven is almost free.
We don’t mean to move to 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.
What is the talk about my lines
And a can of Coca Cola
When the Koala Bear still is there
Unlike a model out late in better than home alone underwear?
In the future the steward will remember the class of West and East
For the F-Keys and Capital Locks that knew to sod off.
But reliance was not fair when the game was not the self
& sex was so happy for the image to see Eve instead of Gandalf.
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
Do you know a Spaz can play too?
Goals and one shot kills are for and against free markets now
Crude.
writing
Confrontation
You act like love was a Commodity
Commuting on the London train;
While space was a likewise opposite
Of the notion that awareness was in the brain.
No conversation pleases you to recall
The opposite of Adam and Eve
And when there is a gap from a silent remonstration,
There is a Fall of Man to the locus of Steve.
It is always the same, between you and I:
Seeking the meaning of life under the skies.
But what if heaven runs different to your employment(s)
And I am off to be different like one of the guys?
Can you stand it, will you let it be
Is there a legacy from a University?
Defeat this, save that, take it literally
And call me a Prat! What is the thine when she is not Thee?
Where is Mary and what is the History?
Snake bite and rattle bars caging sums
There must be a nuance for the leprosy of containing
The overspill of contagion between bums on seats.
That is the replete abridgement of what I meant
When I kept quiet like a guy bent on a poetic concourse.
Clod
Live forever and prosper
The gold of digging America
Is the 500th brave fortune
Without courage on a Mast.
That is the past
And I am lost.
What is the cost
Of a Boston cup of tea
When there are no more sea bound journeys
Disabled me.
The plane is too high
The seas are too huge
The last call was The Poseidon Adventure
And death for being rude.
Dropped is the anchor in the profession of last cast
The viewer and the remote call out
Of the sandman with a blast
And barrel of laughs.
The expense account is a ticket stub
The credit card is not the American Express…
… anymore
Thus is not more
Thee is not to have and to hold
What is bold?
The font
Bufont
Microsoft hirsute?
China would boot that cheese out the door
And remember Eden was Adamic when Edam tasted more
Than cold in the light of refrigerated sun
As Krishna lent Rama some warmth from Rajas
Under the threat of a gun.
Import / Export
Hampstead
The Heath
Sunday’s no beach
America: Synod School
What a fool. The poet unexpressed in me.
Strategy
Incompletely oiled by the B.L.T.
Something was incomplete. Incomplete. Incomplete.
Error could not scan for error
Mind could not solve mind.
Seeker could not know The Sikh> The Punjabi could never no a working week…
Sadhana and the typist intervened
To contravene the malnourished world
That spawned a Democracy for boys and girls
That England could not own past York.
Pick up the fork
And eats and.
Breath the Renaissance
For the price of the Rand.
Salvage Mandela and let a year know a fashion
Sell Malawi’s children some priority passages for a ration.
What rationale but a currying
Favour for invisible cities
There is no Canterbury canter tomorrow
When Shakespeare is not within Webster’s web:
And I gone for the longing
Of John Barry and The Beyondness of Things
Known.
Found.
Owned
& repeated.
Come depleted
To me
[‘Tere Ore’ Removed.}
If Singh is King then abacus is cussed
If Bling is dingalong then Allah knows a long Guru goodnight.
Gone are the masters of film
Sold is the Master Blaster’s best laid Illmatic Negroid
IfyouwantaPolaroiddon’tfuckingaskme
Work
World’s were not so warring
The American was snoring
Canadians were storing
The need for Maple Leaf bears.
Red and White is happier than the Blues
And a special relationship had a dirty truth
Once, Twice, Three times and : : : typo at the NHS now. . .
Did I do that or was it The Holy Ghost
Say it was me, if you need me the most?
But if it is them, get personal with Brahmins
They do not recommend what Self=Help wanks, masturbates, jacks off, cums to and gets their end away and portends.
Do you know what I mean, when I (I … EYE!!!!) miss New Orleans?
The third eye got by when the psychedelic revolution was whisked away
There were 1970s
There were 1980s
There even people born in the 1950s: And nothing was for me!
Sadness followed Krishna as he saw his army betrayed.
Sudarshana Chakra and Arjuna is not Wilberforce
Find the force of Abhimanyu: Am I you?
You, two by two crew
With one force
Sathya force
I and I is the true course.
By my phone
Make my clone know the known
And I will be supremely
G.O.D.
The Queen did not ask for her double
To spy on Thel and William Blake’s clod.
Claims Go On
I cannot stop
The clock won’t tick
The red ink is barely dry
And I am still thick
School is here and there
Church is a right old state
And everywhere I look
The internet knows my mate
It’s all systems go
Blast off after morning prayers
And even when I’m done with OM
The computer shares my meditation affair
Then its off to see the wizard
And the debutantes of the old Oz
Who might as well be magicians
On C.N.N. or FOX with some loss
No time for a full stop
With my morning cup of coffee or some eggs
Then it’s straight back upstairs to my laptop
Kept some fair distance from my legs
Maybe its Huffington or Guardian
They give more than their fair share for free
But if it’s a celebrity diet or dinner
Then the Daily Mail is for (you and) me
Writing away I think of tomorrow
Tomorrow, sadly, I do not think of yesterday
So I wait for gold and diamonds
And some Rolex account as my pay
Maybe I will sell this or maybe I will gain that
The monkey mind will not stop for all the effort in China
And if I did get out to town during Covid-19
Then the Americans charge double for the Diner
Nowhere is peace and pieces are everywhere
For the farthermost exit of human contact
And when it comes to the afternoon from lunch
I am in front of YouTube for some enlightening tract
Maybe it is this way, or maybe the world spins on its tummy
Some of the ideas of evolution are really rather funny
And then the evening is the same attack
What is yours? As my creativity goes flat.
Something in the oven, maybe a toast and some cheese
But rarely is there time alone to talk to others and say please
So the night rolls on and the moon is kind to my appetite
And the sleep cares more than the Doctor
Who addresses my life as a goal for his wife
And keeps changing his leotard like a leopard with spots
Or something like that…
When the world was flat
And ideas were not so written about by the dead
Afeared of Christ as some 1900s white
Who got lost out of the East for some Upanishad.
Thus are the comments loaded on media
For the feed that the politicians read
And on they go for the midway news show
To get out and about in ways of their own seed.
For once this world knew horses and the man a pistol gun
For shooting and the heaven quite different
To the thugs on the street who keep prices high and mighty
While benefitting the law to be more than strength.
Fear of this God and respect of that one
These are the best years of Judges we have ever had
But tomorrow when the land is tossed to the youth and their tattoos
There is little room for imagination and good old Galahad.
So farewell England and hello Dolly
There is a sheep next to every Art work I am sure
But I won’t come to your Psychiatric affair
Without hell and your Bible knocking on your door.
And these are the strangest times for the knowledge of newness
The oddest respect for education after school
When a King prepares for some wickedest respect
And the wisest man is dying a stressed old fool.
For call yourself this or call yourself that
England was just taught about the Ego:
And Americans looked at Europe and smiled sadly with a loss
That Brexit should have taught them that long, long ago.
Now the Maharaja can despair like Arjuna
Their kind of tariff is with Omar Sharif online
And their Devis can stretch Yoga for the Guru Yoga next to them
Complaining that their human rights are not enough English Zen.
Thus are the cycles of life and wine represented
For the monied might to ride past Lord Denning
And the Swamis from Rajahstan to know the nuance of Imran Khan
Banned from the news for all that we were winning.
Can you rhyme well and compare to ‘Him’
The funny fellow from Bombay trolled me hard,
As the only one who had anything to say or lose
And give Krishna some mile high yoga at The Shard.
Thus will Yoga be taken away and the English encouraged to move on
So that India can repent the mildest rebuke that is sent
And Asians call themselves something like The Human.
Checkers
On the way to the word spiritual
Is a typical retrospective ritual
To find out all that you don’t know
About who is not you certainly.
Then the definite article can be found
And the usual suspects will be brown,
So don’t complain of the masterplan
To wait for the overshadow and Africa land.
For, if man is not known after 1980,
And the Nobel Prize going Tibet’s way
Then how can human numb more than Sci Fi
When volition is evil for evolution to try a drive by?
Masters and servants are now my table merchants
I eat the vocabulary like potters clay with Islamic love:
Maybe that’s Ishmail anymore on the oceans
And a courtesan is lost in the past with The Kite Runner’s sequel trove.
Mentions are few and far between for what means something to me
Hidden from the dens of Oxford’s dense forests
Where the legacy of litanies was humanism resolved
To court the jester who opened his mouth with problem solving.
That was the opening act of a poet lost in the towers of knowing it
Like a Babylonian Prince of deceit and chasing darkness
Facing hardship for the throws on the internet affair
Where the awareness does not sit well with 19-1000s-Millenniums.
The English land is so betrothed to sand that travellers come and go
With merry love on their hand. Show me again the Titan’s strain
To rove where the Martian knows American music with Holz.
Then the comeuppance can dance with the ordinary and culture can cope.
So on the way to the bank for literary thanks
With my books on the open and not so free market:
Is a word to the Heal who is no show stealer
That today is no Black Friday with such a hearkening.
Stay alive like John Travolta and revolve unlike Revolver
Don’t sell all for an out with the Beatles version of Twist and Shout:
There was more to Jack Lemmon than dancing (white) like John Lennon
So send hoops to Jordan for a brighter affair.
One day we will get there to a bright affair
It just needs speaking again.
Then the table cloth is rinsed and the colour runs out
So the negro is not Chubby or Checkers to cost what it’s all about.
If I was Middle Eastern then maybe my midrift would matter
For the psycho-somatic distress of a Hindu who is fatter
For all the care from the Drs about the nurse who saw
A beef eater love chickens more than Arjuna at the door.
AI Summary
The poem explores the difficulty of pursuing a spiritual identity in a world shaped by racialisation, colonial memory, religious confusion, and cultural commodification. The speaker moves through Africa, Tibet, Islam, Hinduism, Oxford, Babylon, and American pop culture, showing how every tradition has been distorted by history and power. He critiques the way brown bodies are stereotyped, how spiritual language is misused, and how literature and religion have been turned into markets. Beneath the satire and cultural references lies a deeper ache: the longing for a spiritual path that is authentic, uncolonised, uncommodified, and unburdened by the expectations placed on him as an Asian man in England. The poem ends with a raw reflection on the body, shame, and the desire to be understood without being reduced to stereotype.
Can I?
Can I talk to God
Like you?
Not if you are a believer
In things not Jew.
Then there is no path
Past the Prasad
For the driver of economic ruin
That left me in life so hard.
I do not mean to ruin you,
But I do not wish success to all the time:
In case you find mortality
Treats you and your family and friends just fine.
But God spoke to me and said do the same
& then he collapsed my little brain.
In 2002 I was a wandering alone in my mind
Through the hilltops of the Lake District
With a couple of friends of my own
Zones
The home phone
Districts like the Apaloosa apology for a decade of being home by my alone.
You and you squandered me and my alone time
You said that sayeth was enough for thine and some My Girl time.
How can I beach this boy
When I float so abstract from reality with the real boys.
What is the real?
How does it feel?
Can people rescue seals,
If nature does not feel?
Then amongst the waters of Ganges
O’ Mother there was your art
I saw the world blown apart
Misery knew mystery & simplicity had come through
Too many tell tales had broken through: I know about you
20 years on
Same song
Nothing is wrong
Paypal went wrong – The same old song,
Actors have been healing long time.
Thus was the show stolen
By a man down below
When a Bard got trapped by some soccer skills
When a Yogi looked for a Yoni in the Punjab many years ago.
Matter knows master to the degree that numbers are spoken
And today’s gestured psychology is Indian Self Help for estrangement to law the broken.
Chisels & ice
The end of the road would be nice
Mothers and Fathers
Don’t know the division that is hard enough
Break the attachment
Swim to the Swami
Krishna told Arjuna
Never abandon The Father {or your army}.
How did He do it? Old Govinda, savoir faire
Did he wait for men like me to shave my hair.
Tempo
The go
Hassle free economics
Gita Land and a time I know
I do not spend money well
The dole people know that
Investment Tracker
My bad moods are tracked to base things
Porn in the lavatory with George Michael is not one of them
For that time in Soho at Lupo when a man attacked me:
Wail! What my luck brings!!
Homosex, Srila Prabhupada was the ex-merchant
Of Deliveroo economics before the gig was up
That Krishna had broke rank from the Fall of Man
To find feet in the shoes off Oxford Street for some to feel complete.
What was that beat, on HMV, before Store Street?
How was that book on the instead, good stead,
Life saver crew
For the friends in me
That could have been you:
Role reversal
Exorcism
Real mad jizzims
Looking for a Maharaja to fulfil things big.
Jigga / My Nigga
What is Shree Guru to you / Pharcyde & Jazzmattaz
Spaz! This is not twister
For Hurricane Katrina and that judgemental sister
Betty Shabbaz
Did you read her well, those riots and keep quiets?
1,000,000 man march
April showers
Nature’s hours
Nations are go
When Islam is a post-Malik show.
Time moves on and sex is still embarrassment
For what solitary wanderings away from the maddening crowd might have meant.
How do you do it?
What does it mean?
When it comes to Astral Projection, do you clean you thoughts
Or are your hearts kept clean,
By Angels who fought Demons to keep warring off you
By the Bipolar Crew who wanted to take a look at you.
Rape: The Final Frontier of Act/ Intention + Judgement in the hands of the …
These are the voyeurisms of the journey yet to be taken.
What do you know about it?
Who are you to say?
One day there was not so much knowledge
As when unfamiliar faces had space on their phone to have some say.
So stay well and travel safely for quicker than your average carriage
Across the sea storms of silent strewn time for some samosas and carnage
Of what Mata can deliver instead of Siddhis when she likes the look of my packed sandwich.
That may be a way of putting it, carrying things back and forward to youth with some aplomb
And reminding my childhood of primary things and when it was fun to not eat the plum for some chocolate.
Can kids eat chocolate if they come to you too, asked The Guru one night…?
Only if tomorrow is forever, replied wisdom, when I tucked my shopping sprees in myself nice and tight.
Those sounds are thoughts that the singular Doctors calls voices
And there are a few consequences for karma before the Devis of life lived with premature choices.
AI Summary
The poem is a long, painful meditation on spiritual experience, trauma, racialisation, sexuality, psychiatric misunderstanding, and the search for meaning across decades of confusion and revelation. The speaker questions whether he can speak to God, recalls a spiritual‑psychological collapse in 2002, and revisits memories of loneliness, mystical visions, family expectations, cultural identity, and sexual trauma. He weaves together Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, Scientology, hip‑hop, politics, and personal history to show how his inner world became overloaded and misinterpreted by others. Beneath the references and the pain lies a single longing: to understand what was real, what was illness, what was spiritual, and whether a life fractured by misunderstanding can still be healed.
Callum and High
Seen is the reflected
Wanted is the defected
But if hated is the refracted
Then lately will be the de-compacted.
Hate the original thinker
And you will be one too:
Love the first called blinker
And there will be one girl left for you.
How was it you were hollow to remember my name
When the halls knew your latent fame?
Did you think I would blink when your arse did his think
And the paper was not a Horatio bidet –
Do you know my (new) day,
Or is it to untimely for this to be the one fashion poem too say?
Lady, girl, friend
Chip out some wood with that tiger and the Ludhiana food
It looks good on you
Leave some for two
And there will be some for three
Seer, quality, streets for Lafeyette to regret the imparting of some stretched marks
Too far, too soon
Too much, too soon
Intense like a open corpse and area 51 Scorpio library
There is always Gary after the shoe show
Boots and all.
Boot.
What a waa waa boot “for you”,
There could have been four for your dad at the door,
Driving Miss Daisy past the worn out Newspapers looking for in drain spite and nations.
What does it mean to be like you – Hugh, St Hugh’s, Jew and Colonel before the time?
Palestinian crimes and Darfur rhymes long before the Durr account.
Were you a scout with the cleaners?
Could it be you have fallen from Fight Club gloves?
Almonds under the bed
Some changed sheets instead
And nothing after the used up hack
Spack-attack! Nothing can save that. Fallen soul.
Pope’s channeled goal. Are you into Akaashic fields now too?
There is football in India now for you.
They play in blue
With the Chelsea boys
And fake injury fairly
Unlike my heart when you broke it
For the cost of a token
Like a moment in the luxury limelight (and how a burger cost £20)
Jivan
Modest are the lanes of Broad Street
Long before the times of closet homosexuals
Who take Broads to ways out West
When the wildest and wettest t-shirt does best
For a six marriage Hollywood set piece
Over brightest Blighty’s divorce law crest and craving:
Buddha is raving for some more boys on the beach
Reading a book called ‘Reach’.
Smoke
Served
Vote and anthem again
But bear in mind if there is nothing in an E.C.T. brain
Then what is the strain
Psychiatric trainer
Look alike no-brainer
Come again
See the truth
Nobody likes you – without you in the room
Broom.
Cinderella
Go find a clever fella
With his rocks and bells and whistles
Who needs polished policed public brushed bristles.
Admire
Turn
Shoot again –
The Afghans are not yet out of naughties and grapes
Trapsing through the photo album of time
In the loose lasoos of the investors who cannot help others to make money
God! Your funny. Laugh for me like a tree
Knowledge lady
Have you seen any skeletons lately?
Cups get bored when you’re the Queen in the room
And heroes are hard when the goal is your Sewa for some cooperative ‘shrooms.
Glisten like The Glimmer Man and send up The Wayans Family
And life will know the moustache again
So the Punjabi can bowl the Goatee away again-
Sell it to me
Bell it to me
Text me
And don’t hesitate to page me.
The rage might me late
Tandems are at the gate
And laughter is a Mile High late.
waste
In time there was quorum on the forum of time
To have sent the earth some special photos of finders
Who met in the right place at the right time
To know that poetry was wrong.
They asked, what is it?
They asked, what was it?
They asked:
They asked:
They asked:
_____________________
Now is now
Put that in a package Mr Levis
And get some roots
Showing off was not so successful
When the clown was accompanied by school proof.
AI Summary
The poem confronts a figure from the speaker’s past — someone privileged, admired, institutionally protected — who once judged, dismissed, or misunderstood him. Through a mix of satire, memory, cultural references, and emotional intensity, the speaker exposes the hypocrisy, class privilege, and emotional carelessness of this person and the institutions that shaped them. The poem moves through Oxford, India, Hollywood, politics, sexuality, and spiritual imagery to show how deeply the speaker was affected by this relationship and how long he has carried its wounds. Beneath the humour and rage lies a deeper truth: the desire to reclaim dignity, to rewrite the story, and to refuse the role of “clown” or “outsider” that others tried to impose. The poem ends with a stark recognition that institutions ask questions without understanding — and that the poet’s truth exists outside their frameworks.
Call Me Back
Ring twice if you get me
The phone is the space between me and you:
Text me happy if you forget her
We are the being alone crew!
I am happy to induct you
This is the time and the reason –
So get your kit together and get a whet on
Now is no time to be sorry about sardonic.
Have they Tweeted that,
Like a flat group
Hoping for ‘B’ to be with them?
Don’t they know ‘B’ is being with us
And the too live crew in the living room
Of the underwear drawer of my heart.
Send him an I.M. then
And I will face him on Facebook
The Masters are amongst us
By his divine reckoning
And clean spam account:
Sell those stocks and shares
And bounce me back Ping from Pyong Yang
Those are some fair prices for his soul
In the land of his make believe.
Sans crypt is being without a grave,
He is not even dead when the toll bells cave in
So type away some jive for the music that is your rave
And he will forgive you for those bad beats (like Jesus).
See! He thinks he knows it, get the money
And run off another pronounced print
If the deceit is in The Bhagavad Gita
Then gits and gist with defeat ya’
Cha! See what I mean?
He takes his picture unclean –
Teach him to shave, that beard is for some slave
And China will know what my mates mean.
AI Summary
The poem stages a digital‑age confrontation with someone who once held emotional or social power over the speaker. Through pings, texts, jokes, spiritual references, and racialised jabs, the speaker exposes the superficiality, hypocrisy, and insecurity of the other person while reclaiming his own voice. The poem blends loneliness, humour, spiritual parody, and cultural critique to show how modern relationships — romantic, platonic, intellectual, or spiritual — are mediated through screens, misunderstandings, and power imbalances. Beneath the sarcasm lies a deeper ache: the desire to be recognised, the pain of being misread, and the refusal to let someone else define the narrative.
Byzantium
Like a lesion in the addressed heart
To tomorrow where the dark arts
Are not promised or timed by rivers
Out of the eyelets blessed by diving Gods
Seeing the improbable oceans collide under Jupiter.
This life clashes with rocks and undermines the highest cliff walker
Who would out abseil Oedipus for s difference in Rome
Of the land that would set England free.
What are these maps to thee, Atlas?
Did you carry the weight of paper on your shoulders?
The merriment of nymphs was a shadows glimpse
Of how leisure would lead to pleasure that hid Athens from my soul.
There was his goal – in the mediumship of his narrative:
Here is our mast – as the blatant opulence is repetitive.
To question the need for poverty is to write amongst me
Then the banking equation is not such a school invasion.
Collisions of the East find a feast of Middle Kingdoms
Where the land is owned by a man called planned
And John F. Keating Lennon’s land, is more fashionable
Than anything the horrors of 20th Century war ever understand.
AI Summary
The poem blends Greek myth, planetary imagery, economic critique, and cultural memory to describe a world where old narratives — Western empire, spiritual certainty, economic progress — have collapsed. The speaker invokes Oedipus, Atlas, Athens, and Jupiter to show how ancient myths once held meaning, but now feel hollow in the face of modern political and economic realities. The East rises as a counter‑force, the Middle Kingdom becomes a symbol of planned power, and the 20th century’s cultural icons — Lennon, Keating, the wars — appear as failed prophets. Beneath the imagery lies a deeper question: who carries the weight of meaning now that the old maps no longer guide us?
Bottle Neck Clause
Clauses are more free than my verses are cared for
Roses have a finer dining room than the space between my ears.
Cheering is for American Bandstand and England is grand,
I am alone at last with the class of almost regrettably yours.
How could it be that the question came upon me?
That tomorrow mattered more than the youth of berated Paki
That was not Thy self be done in the I-I of a son of a gun.
There! Lost it. My verse is a hearse to the memory of an ode to a disaster,
The Master is Enlightened and I am one with today’s promise.
Time is on this planet for as long as we can guess about it,
But nobody will listen to their sorry hearts about my illness.
Many moons ago, when the knowledge was stored beneath the sand,
Time was not collected in a bottle for the very filmed and bravery but balanced bland.
The memory of mistake was not the fake they were claimed to be
As they were sedated and chastised for ruling the lost tribes of Alcatraz.
There was the Plaza, away from the car crash, trying to remember Egypt
Like a belonging soldier attached to the demotion of love’s hairs on a long forgotten body
Writing the writhing into being all over the top of me with a family tree
So irresponsibly drawn that the carriages were better placed by the oasis
In the schools of throughout thought learning to tarry progress on the seas.
I was not meant for you, said my verse in a prancing prosaic blue(s)
So why was she meant for him? There is nothing in you, dear Poet, that is not dim.
Light is to light what the led are to the electricity of mobility awareness
When the fairness for addressing life’s porridge and problems is clearness.
Sanctions are actions when the correspondence is tremendous
But the mellowness of post drugs infidelity to libellous
Is not going to absolve freedom of either one of us.
Life is to life what negligence is to the horrible especialising of nature’s gait
When old man William was made a captain, Oh my (darling) Captain, with 7 Archangels too late.
Lucifer was left out so that the new sobriety was dimmed and clever
And time could give Muhammad some space to leave and remember.
AI Summary
The poem mourns the gap between the poet’s inner life and the world’s failure to recognise it. It reflects on racism, illness, spiritual confusion, and the collapse of meaning, weaving together images of Egypt, Alcatraz, angels, and ancient memory to show how deeply the speaker has searched for belonging. The verse becomes a vehicle for grief — grief for lost youth, lost promise, lost recognition — and for the loneliness of being misunderstood by society, by institutions, and by those who once held power over him. Beneath the imagery lies a quiet truth: the poet is still here, still writing, still trying to make sense of a world that has never known how to hold him.
Wild Stage 