Slim Jim swept Dark Annie
 Like the tide,
“Let’s brave the lies
You and I”, he cried, 
“Should we find ourselves
In the killing fields
Where old values go to die
Where old costs are paid
In powder, narcissism and wine, 
Where cold hearts kiss, 
And no broken mirrors shine.
Where we’re work day bound, 
To the dreams that only
Let us down,
With few Errol Flynn
Or Clarke Gable’s meant,
To rise amongst the crowd”. 
“You’re more Brando anyway”,
she frowned,
“For there are no Abel men
In Caine Town.”

The National Mental Health Service 
Is experiencing technical difficulties 
The notion that everything will be all right
Is on another line. 
Your taxes are better spent
Unwasted on these faculties
But don’t worry your position in the queue
Is fifty five million
Nine hundred, seventy nine thousand,
Nine hundred and ninety
Nine. 
While you wait it might be wise to think
About popping into your local public house
Boost the economy with a drink
You’ve floated this long 
Its doubtful you’ll sink
Here’s some Ed Sheeran while you wait, 
We hope it don’t tip you 
Over the brink. 

Golden hour more a dour
Unpolished brass hue,
Piercing through these little else’s to do
Frozen in the lifetime of a day;
In Small Heath snow and dew. 
Churning the Earth, for what it’s worth,
In treaded role of digging holes,
As young Kabir practises his boles
In bread crumb betterment 
And full view of our safer bet.
Behind laughter battlements
That brace the elements
You make your stand 
Against the shift for 80 quid, 
In your pocket quick, 
That should keep us liq’d
In pubs of brick, 
Til hairy Monday reigns again.