There once was a man in the street
Ostensibly shifting his feet.
His pinstripes could not
repress

You're the one dream, I believe, that is to

On a large purple cushion
Piped patterns on fingers
Between post party coughing
She rolled

It was on the road that mad men burned and were heard as they lit roman candles across the sky and

Emotional creeper/
On the jagged terrain/
Keeping the low/
Hiding the face/
Pacing the

Life is my stage
where many passed
from baby to old
kind, sincere, cold,
some just opposite!
If

My joy to be tingles like young love
A malady with an acupuncture cure
Through a paranoia of

Start the work now, it's nothing.

Let's put this here.
Why not move this further.
I did not

As I'm found
Ready to be cut down
My body lay across the ground
Out of the door a screeching

They speak of the majority
The voice that drowned out the rest
Placing faith in an authority
The

I took to a beaten old note book and slammed my pen against the pages, scribbled a pained word or

Mancunian, musical, multi-cultural Metropolis.
Artisan, artistic, ancestral

Our bones are but
the lines dawdling the universe a malleable mold of stars
from which we grow
as

These days feel lost.
I once sat in an ancient bar unchanged from the glory days and shared a beer