“Somewhere”, spoke the grey lips in the wall.
Somewhere before sunrise,
before the first bird crows to dawn
and the apathetic are yet to uncurl
the grit that gathers like dust
between the folds of shallow eyes.
“Somewhere”. A derogatory term.
Their humanity bears no resemblance to us
as skin and bone the only price to pay
Cities made of paper,
soaked in a drought. Somewhere East.
Or maybe South? Somewhere far off relevant,
so alien to home, allotted just enough frames
for you to feel how fortuitous;
but not enough so the screams
swallow your evening meal and you swat the sound of flies
pouring through the static of your transient box.
Welcome to the inner-most-workings of an East London born poet. Here you'll find an amalgamation of all my poems, short stories and everything else in between. If easily offended, I suggest you kindly scarper while you have the chance – as the creative works you are about to indulge were conceived in a dystopian lab and are not for those raised on a cotton-wool diet. Nah, I kid – it's all age friendly so your grandma needn't worry. Enjoy – at your own peril.