Keight Hockey Poems

Ash is confetti on your funeral bed,
The guilotine shall chop off the skeletons head,
And around the casket dances a dozen banshees,
Whilst your eyes rest where your rotten self will,
...

smashed bottle glass
dead bodies, beneath the underpass
a surgeon and a butcher
kissing up against the wall
...

Cross eyed at streetlights,
Accidental smoke rings,
silver coins filling pockets,
whilst rosé tinted vision lines eye sockets,
...

You're a vestal virgin in a gold leaf chariot,
front seats at the theatre, but you still act a harlot,
and bold declarations you cry out in the dark,
the pontifex has you by his grip, you're there stark,
...

as one finds light, its shrowded by crowded hordes of aphid,
and noone ever bothers to look, because they're all so languid,
its rare to see anyone actually work, to get what theyve yielded,
for behind the facade of mediocity theyre secreted,
...