Poems of Luke Nicholson
The King is Dead.
I am not this ill intent, i am but badly drawn.
Are you badly drawn too?
Slowly, let the drum roll lead the marches.
Sketch me a mind and with it i’ll learn words, words to be used as defences against those who would write you and i off as them merely of the side street dwellings.
The suit man designed us to serve a purpose did he not? To be the focus of their blame, he made sure we were born, and then cast us into the edges, where mothers dare not to mourn, he speaks “the peopl