Struggling to breathe on West End Street. The little train. The little train has little wheels that always keep a rolling. The little train cried little tears and needed some consoling. The little train has little eyes and little ears for hearing. The little train had little dreams of angels disappearing. The little train is getting golden, soomal need replacing. The little train went off the rails and needs a little chasing. The little train is resting now and skies are clouding over. The little train is in the sea beneath the cliffs of Dover. From the mouth of a cat. I will fight you puny human. You're just a giant rat in a baseball cap. Stroke me, stroke me now. Stroke me now before a growl and howl your tiny house down. You call that a garden. Mrs. Jones down the road grows roses and she feeds me fishies when I'm feeling greedy, which is almost all of the time. I don't have time for your whining. I sleep all night and I sleep all day and I try to escape when you're away from me. I remember ancient Egypt. The Pharaohs had nothing on me, my sweet. Milk. Bring me milk. Bring me milk from the schools of a thousand virgins. Hold the door, ho, door. You've got to let me out. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. Let me out. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Blah. The common cold has got a hold on me and now I'm coughing and sneezing and trying not to smoke a cigarette. It's funny how we put man on the moon smashed atoms together to find the higs boasts on and built our lives around convenient stores, but we can still feel ill and swallow parasitum all pills. Now I'm not saying big farmer is selling soothas to boost their bottom line, but sometimes I think about dickens laid up in front of an open fire, or chorsa writing tails with a big red nose like Rudolph. I don't need germs or the lurgy to feel broken and dirty. I've been cold since I left the womb and now my empty room leaves me feeling blue and useless, so I'll wrap myself in a dressing gown and try to get some work done. I'll still be coughing in my coffin at the bottom of a hole that's cold and moldy. I'd breathe deep but my lungs would weep and fill with liquid. The colour's exploded. The colour's exploded like a bomb beneath the water and it all rained down in an oil slick, refracting light through a prism of your own creation. Angry reds and angry blues and angry yellows and various combinations. Angry oranges and angry greens and angry violets like a pissed off poem for Valentine's Day. It's all the fun of flags with twice the hassle, backwards plans to take a blank canvas and plaster at handsome, hard to understand like a cancer scan or a pension plan, fam. When I dissolve into molecules, I'll be a see-through green on a computer screen or a passionate red that's not right in their head, but baby, you can see my colours when you can't see nothing else and besides, I was born to be a rainbow. You can be a rainbow too if you'd like to join me. Remembrance poem I am a member of a privileged generation. I have to fight for what I believe in, not with guns on the western front, but with the same words Churchill used to raise the spirits of a nation. War is hell, it's kind of obvious, and yet was so self-absorbed by selfies and porn that we forget those names on the war memorial. They're not just names, they're people who fought in the second world war, so we could take photos of what we eat in restaurants. Good men didn't do nothing, they risked their lives for you and I, and while the world has changed, some things remain the same, and if history repeats itself, I hope to hide how we were listening. And hey, the Germans died too and so did the Jews and the Gypsies, plus hundreds of thousands of innocent people, and while Hitler was evil and needed dealing with, it was a high price to pay for all nations, and not just ours. For every moment of silence there's a lifetime of violence, and people paid the ultimate sacrifice. I'm grateful for that, every time I wake up and the sun is shining. The youth of today must make this relevant, the lives that a gun must not be forgotten. The Tortoise, their bear, and their hair. Slow steady progress is the way to win the race, like the Tortoise and their hair securing their seats in the houses of Parliament, but the Tortoise and their hair never knew they were being watched live online by people who never knew them, no one knew about the bear. The bear was at home with his hands across the keyboard, a little overweight, a lot unemployed, and just generally not motivated to race against the Tortoise and their hair. In fact, the bear couldn't bear to bear his beer belly, so he grabbed his gun and climbed onto the rooftop. The hair reached the finish line and bang, you got shot in the side of the head, back into the left. The Tortoise saw her and turned around, but even a slow zigzag couldn't save him. Bang, bang, bang, and that was Shell looks like a hunk of moldy cheese. The people online got the show they really wanted, and the bear was caught and tried as a domestic terrorist. The end, I was never good with morals. Counting. Ten little blueberries slowly swelling in the sun, nine aggressive journalists with stories full of blood. Eight incessant bakeries with slowly rising donuts, seven shady spinsters with their heavy skin like coconuts. Six incippered pizza men with logos on their boxes, five fiery furnaces with bellies full of foxes. Four affordable freezes, fucking freeze and blocks of ice, three rings for the Elven Kings as they sit beneath the sky. Two enchanted eras with wedding rings of gold, one delighted day at a used store he's never told. No more new ideas today, I think my brain is melting. Minus one day off my life, I don't think this is helping. The National Arbor Eater. So much death and wasted potential. Brave boys and girls, dogs, horses, pigeons, postman killed in action just delivering the mail. Hollowide prisoners of war with no food in their bellies forced to build Burmese railways and all the birds are so peaceful here. Kids who lied about their age shot at dawn or sent over the top to stare down the barrels of German guns, men killing men on both sides of the trenches. Groves of trees and names carved into marble blocks are big bad obelisk as the sun goes down on the sun, 20,000 dead in one day of fighting. Overweight women in motorized chairs, Armicadets and Kammo in middle-aged men drinking peronia in the cafeteria. 100 years of history represented by the trees of the Arbor Eater, no time for fight or flight, they just tried to survive with their lives on the line. I couldn't do it, but they did it so I don't have to. Respect as due and so I paid it. Two friend-shaking hands in the liver. Coffee, meat booze. Booze, this is coffee, my friend at 9 a.m. when I'm half awake and struggling to function. Coffee, booze, makes me sin karaoke and sometimes I also fall over. Booze, coffee is the one I warned you about. It sometimes makes my handshake like you do. Booze, I'm sorry but I think we need to talk. Coffee, I don't like it when you're black. I'm not a racist but white is right and black is black you can call me a white coffee supremacist. Coffee, you need a little sugar, booze, you're sweet enough. Booze, I've got the booze, I used to abuse you loosely but now I need to put the kettle on. Coffee, I'm a comment, don't let me fall asleep in a meeting. Booze, I'm sure I'll see you later. Love poem for a new computer. You, my dear, are a thing of beauty. I mean get a load of those contours. You are amazing. 16 gigabytes of ram, ultra fast processor, triple screen capabilities and holy moly I'd like to dip your LEDs in maple syrup. I haven't even met you yet. The stories will tell, my god the work will do. I know you don't have feelings but I've got enough feelings for both of us. I shall name you Jane so you can be Jane Cabane, my little mainframe. Dear god, you've got more ports than portsmith, baby, open wide and get your trays out. I've got a big old disk to put into you. Jane, I see your software. You remind me of me when I was younger. Now let the race to obsolete and begin. I wonder who get there first.