Judge
when the riddy is astern
the valley of colne
and the vehemence of poverty
runs from the shores upland
when that tide is on the upturn
and the spectre of revolution
rising from its mire pools
and the estates is straining
like muscled tension
i see the ghost of heads and arms
smuggling silent guns across
the misty morning borders
between sanity and the tenement blocks
in what will become a violent rebellion
born from the drug littered stairwells
and damp alleys of fermenting ill and discontent
in these depression times
that overthrows the stupid lays
of order
an upheaving of the lard and the slick
and the political fuck
a bromidal cleansing
of those concrete sores
there is a particular judge
a blubbery blueberry jello of a man
with a spiteful disdain
that goes beyond callous
in his corrupt assuation
and its arse licking
furthering the interests of the state
ive seen the colour of its tongue
i know where he lives
and as a few and i round the house
i can see him half running, half waddling
wailing no nos as i aim my hand gun
first i shoot him in the leg
which half snaps
he is lying on the floor
his wet squid like face
beating and frantic
his twisting
in the slow catherine wheel of panic
i am handed a baseball bat
i slowly beat him
with the long swing of vitriol in revenge
taking as much pleasure in each
dull thump as in the great alive elation
of the kill it is soon to be
his hands a pulp
his arms and legs are cracked
and matted misshapen to his trousers
but not his head
i want him to feel the final moment
i want him to be the symbol torch and flame
i set him alight
we meant to use the petrol as furnace for
the larger houses here in cassio
but this is a personal emblem
and it is a truly worthy goodbye
the charring pain seared grotesque
across his forid face
and the ritual of the smoke and his blistered
eruption makes a disgusting but apt
pall to his bigoted judgement
his fat wet lips still twitching
and his eyes open one burned like a droll wink
dedicated to Thursday 29th Nov