He wasn’t even that tall, as long as you weren’t standing right next to him. He acted tall, and had the aura of a lofty kind of guy, but he didn’t have the height to back it up. Now, he had good, thick hair and that much I will concede. It was long too, flowed all the way down over his fancy armour and looked tangled like an unattended garden. I wish I had hair like that, but hey, who doesn’t?

I’...

Making is free Not watched like a kettle Or marked by the hour The art is always there Whether you are or not That there is peace Let you breathe with ease Because you can be still as a rock Grow moss And still not live at a loss....

These cold highways stretch like tired arms Lifting from the concrete sides of that giant That groans from the pain of life Trickling cars and people Igniting themselves for another day To make their appointments Made in haste....

The wind blows my hair. I’m standing on the edge again. Fifth time this week. This is the difficult thing about becoming a superhero, you have to learn how to fly. There is the technical approach, with your wingsuits and jet packs, but all that costs money. I don’t have a lot of that. Then there is the other way - the leap of faith.

Now this is quite a literal leap and quite a risky one, and you...

Deal breakers Move makers Charging down the street Shaking down all they meet And now the ways run red After all that they said “Cut them up, cut them up!” As they filled their cup Up to the brim The lights got dim And the big man stood tall And made the others seem small Children with knives Snatching at lives....

There is a rotten thing That lies at the bottom of the hill And inside I hear them sing

There is an old man Who listens to the birds They have big wing spans

The thing is a shed A wooden church so unholy Within it is only one bed

There is a rotting thing That lies in that bed And I don’t know what it brings

The old man breathes his last Flinching from his lungs What was present is now past...

If victory had a taste, it would taste like honeyed ash. A sweetness to cover up the bitterness, something to make up for the nothing of it all. For victory is not a celebration, but a devastation, and it leaves no winners. Victory pours down your throat and down to your burning lungs, ignited by the effort of killing - and for a moment is quenches. But the fire revives and year after year you bla...

Funny how someone can be more than a person But a colour too, the sort that warms and grows And brings about these daily smiles. When life comes undone They know the stitches, how to sew Not just a fixer but a maker aswell. They outline a life and you’re there too Part of the picture Sketched and carefully painted. They give it movement This art of ours And we live there together....

I have a spot Not our usual one No it’s somewhere you’d never think To look You might find the clues in my face If you pay attention For more than one wasted night If you make your tracings Reveal my footprints that drag Because I’m tired of hiding And I’d rather be found now Clinging to a branch or stuffed in a box Please figure it all out I’m getting bored and lost....

Still Watching Dark coats march Through my home town Barking in old tongues And strangling the red sky With whipping flags, painted black Icons of their dreadful rule hang high A silent taunt to the remaining few....