Untitled 13/11/14

Fag suckers,
sit with Celtic folly to the rear,
and street cars that lack desire,
to the fore.

Emerging from old,
bricked lanes,
on a skin warmed night,
this monkey might have expected,

Yet soon enough,
from a concrete Phoenix,
will come someone worth waiting on.

There are no ashes here,
just familiar bones,
tones that are overly known,
to both of these,
broken homes.

Wonder if the,
beer drinking,
n'th generation pricks,
still dream of their colonial roots.
Or prefer the sultry evenings of this city.
Immorality can be left at the bar,
with a credit card.
or take what ya want.

Your God would forsake thee,

if it was one.