Graffiti Artist
she pulls me and pint and I write some poetry no one wants to read “ what’s my toxin?” “anything I can swallow, make it a double chaser for after the beer, no ice” the heat from the whisky severs the function of sobriety – who needs it? you’ve got to sip slowly drink responsibly – to begin with and then maintain a subtle silence waiting for words and letters to drip from the skies, I don’t need to ask where, when or why? they always arrive, if at times a little late it’s a weekday afternoon and drinking etiquette would dictate that I have an alcohol dependency issue, nah! - I’m just piss bored with the system, I’m dazed, blinded by the sheer amount of applications, rattled to death by bus timetables, benign regulations and the fidget of Palestinian flags being thrust under my nostrils all because some ancient ancestors once colonised a tiny chunk of conglomerate rock...
