Saturday, 14 September 2013


This city is slowly disappearing

Like your hearing
This connection more like vivisection
No corner given
No close too close
One hand
in this land that is raised with the knife
Misdirection - Miss, connection.

Packed up into boxes one street at a time
Can we get these moments back? Do we need to attack?
Conquer and divide. Your land is mine. To Valhalla we ride. This life of crime. Be my bride. Just do the time.

No easy feat the cataloguing
A bland defeat, like blogging
I stand too still for the adding up
Not sure of these mechanics
Too futuristic - no’ that Pagan
Celts and Picts V. Carl Sagan.
This yours is mine that mine is yours… goan oan and oan, fur oors n oors
Hard to ignore and hard to catch -
The best of a bad batch.
Give back the spear return the shield
Love, lack of fear. The urn. your ears
It’s what she thinks that’s what’s the jinx. It wusnae me, not in my head not what was read or what was said.
Time out of joint just put away
Not one more not another day

Unexplored the Spaces lacking
I endorse the churches’ sacking
You must know you have my backing

Down here we’re aw place hacking
Through the rattle and the clatter of the battle and the patter
Down these streets fading out no doubt
That time hitch-hiking mountain biking no longer liking the Viking
Ash-dust of plague victims can’t trust vague meanings
 just the past reduced to flash-bulb images. The grimaces, the wave goodbye. Best not cry an ocean; maritime rules apply.

In the future just rows of machines in museums, no more people left to see ‘em.
Like I said. No easy feat the cataloguing
Once before here wis just spears and bullets cheers and chillin
While in the wilder world they’re killin
Exhibitions of their weapons
Heathen soldiers they be reppin
All the rapin an pill-ages
From vill-ages to to the city, with the slaughter, aren’t you pretty. isn’t far from the water.

This city is slowly disappearing
Naw, yir pretty bit yir naw hearin -
It’s shitty: I know I’m fearing
What might be If I burn your house down
I’ve got a longboat, you know I could run home

You could come with, we’ll get there soon
I’ll write in runes preserve in amber - that’ll get their gander.
End up in a museum where people come tae see um.
Yir creepy an yir kooky
Like the Goths in 376 ad.
They were Roamin. Nae pun intended.

How the world looks outside our windows.
We’ll see cities doused in sleep then woken fully alive
and we’ll drive.

This city disappears
It is here.
Over constant and gone ages
We have known the wisest sages

Who fix the world
Through streets we whirled
Until now

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