Skinny Dirt


Skinny Dirt

Welfare fraudulent
Benefit mould
Reality squats between
No one gives a shit
And what we’re told
Rubbish lays about
Nappy House deals
Have not
Have not the inclination
To lift one another
From the shit filled gutter
Running over toxic
Sludge past the roller door
Madness of empty dreams
Take aways number one bargain
Cholesterol promises
Two dollar shop chaos
Riots of plastic
Winter chills blow through
Through nylon fabric
Cuts the soul in two
Illusions shout
From folded faces
On tables lay and wait
Their mad lives
Spread for all to see
And covet thy riches
And personality flaws
Who stole my dream
And fucked my home
Cost of living rising
Like vapour trails
Fading above
Cost of dying mounting
No money for sauce
Or dressing
There’ll be no topping
Tuesday at the Laundromat
Monday locked indoors

Till welfare money comes through
On the phone all Wednesday
Thursday dawns new hope
Friday death can’t come too soon
Saturday just another fight
And expectation
Sunday rises Jesus
Get me through
Can’t afford the nails or the wood
But he knows I’d back out if I could
Crucified the isthmus
Bulldoze houses by the row
For the itinerant working
Lay about feckless replacement
For the last race of lay about feckless
Working cannon fodder
Set to die for rhyme or reason
Understood by few
Beneath their gaze
The pews are loaded
With a thousand singing souls
Repentant for nothing much
But simplicity
And lust for a new people mover
Wide screen day dream
And wide fitting shoes
Sandals would suffice
And slapping
On a hot afternoon
In Lautoka
Life must have been so much better
Than a wet and cold rising damp
Rising to nothing more than
Domestic violent education
A slab of piss
And an ounce of heads
Hardly any solace
But a master of nothing

Dreams beckon and fade to nothing
Dreams just ideas
Sold to no one in particular
Beads and blankets
Muskets and shot
Criss cross the sky
And tangle the ground
With signs
Signs of nothing to come but apathetic loitering
And wishing hoping
For a way out
Of the narrowest ground
We wandered
In our monkey apple battling youth
Seemed much clearer then
The pines sighed
As if they knew
What was to come
Canal reserved for nothing
Orderly rows of graves
Of immigrant failings
Who could have seen
God and country
Die for something
Anything but this
And raise the dead
Sense of decency fair is fair
Below the belt number taking
Oozes like slime between my toes
Shoes leaking on a winter lawn
That may never dry
In my mind this place is always winter
Winter’s bite
And foul breathe
Lingering decay
Been dying since it was born
This skinny piece of dirt


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