Block Me, Block Yer Blues

 

Block Me, Block Yer Blues

 

You block me and I’ll block you,

a just and proper thing to do,

the way our lives have got to be,

is I’ll block you and you block me.

 

All platforms end with lovers dead,

foul open legs, like turkeys spread,

you’ll gobble up my words of dread,

and stuff them up your handbag.

 

Once open screen spit bilious spleen,

no more on chat rooms to convene,

binned trashcans built of broken dreams,

make silk thoughts into dishrags.

 

Photos snapped in goodness sent,

scratch with nails and hate ferment,

what once was fire we now resent,

poured on those boiling oils.

 

Sodden sod-offs we won’t lament,

sour lullabies sing me your torment,

what’s left of love I right repent,

to the losers send the spoils.

 

Now laminate your hate with care,

in fury do our soft eyes stare,

what once was fair is now unfair,

in blood that’s set to thicken.

 

The pulses in your neck have slown,

red spots upon your brow have grown,

search the symptoms on your phone,

my breath does make you sicken.

 

I’ll block you and you block me,

free fingered digital amputees,

shoot spiteful shivers thru and thru,

as you block me and I block you.

Got The Ticket

 

Got The Ticket

 

 

Shoved through a few turnstiles in my time

that chew shirts off backs; fingernailed grime

as I'm back-pushed forwards by impatient crowd

drawn panting low down, heard screaming loud.

Bitten by interlocking teeth painted rusting red,

as steel maws tongue your ground brown bread.

You must shoulder arms against meshing cogs

after they rip off your ticket, giving you dog’s,

that punter behind you, nipping your heels,

asking plaintiff-like, 'well would you feel'?

I’ve climbed stone stairs and found cold seat,

in concrete concourse planted hopeful feet,

wolf howled until both teams are well beat,

chucked out, half hoarse, on pickled streets.

I bought that ticket, see? Watched the flick, too.

Well versed. So, understand me, following you,

that sometimes I will feel it. I’ll still be around

to watch them kicking dogs that are down.

You standing there, all sorry and frowning,

but I’m over with clinging couples drowning,

like any football team who promise plenty,

you'll go through full but leave half empty.