Faces align resulting a coupling the marriage of which is spoken of still in the skeleton mills where the naked hand out cigarettes to the mad who then pick up their phones and ask for help for to speak

On Michael street we convalesce

The neighbours speaking Polish do most of the talking

Wielding words like butchers knives into the room I held you though you patronised and spoke ill of the dead in my arms the tundra thawed the table rocked a generation was reborn a well earned rest the mocking ceased.

My arms folded in silent contemplation oblivious to the throng immersed in my own inner song you felt you could rewrite history when next of all you walk straight into a lamppost it's so so good to be alive!

Freddie was a window cleaner studying philosophy on the side

Playing in a local band, his girlfriend was having their first child.

I'm going back to the pavement back to the pavement back to the pavement where I belong back to the pavement back to pavement a paradox in which a right equals wrong

We went down to Patrick street to see what we might sow with a bad craving for coffee and a hankering for a scone when who should we see but Any Wilson playing his guitar with bells beneath his feet

I'll offer you respite from womanhood and bring an end to your frustrations

There's eating and drinking in good talk says one to the other but do not forsake what was passed from your sister me brother St Aloysius is banging his head on the door while his Queen of Sheba is inside asleep on the floor.

With a wish tied to each wrist

The grown up child in me exists

When bearded man and boy permit

I wish I was a wish I was a wish I was away

Fuchsia I hear the public toilets are closed you make faces when you clean the sand out from between your toes boxing crosses boundaries so does fighting with your shadow

The cock cried crow fetch your sleeping bag let's go, we are off to happy valley where the people are all sad.

Grogan’s druid wears Dunlop runners He’s gone under cover for the day that’s in it

There’s a foe living among us masquerading as a friend When you stare into the flashlights you must look to comprehend

Becalmed in the wake of the latest storm, swollen blue skies Not long before in a cardboard box I refused to die

I entered a room filled with elbows and knees A lantern was hanging by a surrealist painting

A patchwork of dreams came and went Interwoven with juxtapositions

Where is your Valerie from the gallery? Where is your Francis, Neil & Joan?

In the past when I knew less than I know now, which isn’t much I slept inside Peter O’Toole’s drinking stories

Brief erroneous love

Sanctimonious Scum

The doornails are dead

Come in from the cold, So I’m told if you lay your hat it becomes your home You say one thing and I’ll do the other

I’ll die without issue an economic refugee caught between a rumour, caught between a headbutt and a hard place to be.

What then, what then, what then? What then? cried Jo Soap