Brace to expand the only magic space

left to us, a place of folk that exists beyond

money. I love money! If only

I had some, or the other thing they all

want, called exposure, or big ears.

Disruptive in itself, the voice amongst

ads, pride in my artform, graffiti all

over the banal- nice, I like it. But

also, why does that vast nation get to

finger our last starry trench with a yup,

filmed on metro sets of faux-reality?

Imagine yourself surrounded

by cameras, your words tripping out to

potential emptor, shoehorned hard in

to fit the brief. The future etc! Saving.

I would melt with the absurdity of it,

my self droning on about shares or family

when I have neither, not quite the way they

call it. Grubby poets with their terrible

clothes and outsider faces, spun

to gold in terse intermission. Lol

at the Night’s Watch, volunteering

to keep the tiny slice of light alive. We

never did it to make ends, but for love-

to transform right and organise.

For we exist elsewhere, always. We do,

time bends. I am useless in the mainstream.

Here are some words that fit ok. Spokey-

Dokeys on your wheel, for recall. Sorry

I cannot sell them. They are already yours.