Sick Angels

Sick Angels rom-com

Guzzling quick-eat noodles with sweet and sour sauce

Sucking through straws

Sticky things – greasy wings force the fork

Little picks prick at food –

Soaked sofa pinches rusty robes

Over crippled knees

But the noise box blares on

And blows the brain bipolar

Stuck like flickering film

Post rots in pots on a post modern floor

Bric-brac freckled flac

Tickles toes with pickled pain on the path to the bath

Red yelling behind closed lips

Strains the soul

Lick away the pain from bleeding gums

Bleeding whores hooked on guns

Suck the luck from bleeding thumbs

Strain the strings your fingers strum

Fuck your God your work is done

Your thickened heart is a fractured drum

Turn your eyes sky-like-blind again

Your hellish horn will not be heard



We write our arses off

tick all the boxes


on the dotted line

to drink fine wines

punting tours

scores of scholars 

in a place

with a face 

of gold

unyielding and cold.