WEDNESDAY 11th MARCH 2009.

Kick back,
Hit back,
Accuse other people.
It’s my doing;
Yeah I made you
Drink till you were full
And tumble in the street;
I forced you to relieve yourself of
Responsibility for your daughter,
And now it’s my fault your house
Is not in order, and she’s unresponsive to
Your wishes. Fuck me it must be easy being
You; centred and still whilst the whole world
Rolls down hill and clatters at the walls of
Your stability; battles for a window in your
Schedule, a sill to sit on and be enlightened
In your ways. The daze of your perception
Educating us and strengthening our understanding
Of the finer points of functional drunkenness.
Oh it must be grand; that wanded hand of yours
That waves and makes a wonderland
Of the waste ground around your picketed
Pock mark and shovels what
Is left unloved behind you when you
Blunder on; fitting this day more than
Me; this place of excess; this time of
Due intemperance; this world that shoos
The rueful from the eye line whilst claiming
Innocence and blaming others.