The folding paper revolution.

What if The end is the start 

so start at the end 

until you reach the top of the page.

You will end up living every 

curse that you throw at me

For it was just a dream

I fell back to earth today
Wings shredded
Breezes playing
grass reeds
Tides carry me

I dreamt that I was and so I am
A childhood story
read at bedtime

They play out their wars
In the name of glory
The toys on the mantel
The Windows rattle to a sound
Of peace

The curtains drawn
And the lights
Lamp posts
The dog curled up
And a toy pop gun

The marching bands dressed in black
And old cars for salvation
Fireplace irons and ole king Coles bunker
The cage unlocked and now double locked
The creaking floorboards
And where’s the safe
And I hear that sound

the locks drilled and my mouth dry

my chapped lips, no tears for you in  my eyes

The dog laying slain
And blood on his hands
The hook replaced
And a face I dont recognise

Mirrors and a broken light bulb
The taste of tar and coal
Let’s break its mould
And rip out its face
And burn down
the stairs to this old girls  home

chop down the apples & pears

Because of their Folding paper

The Stars the tiles the bars
The world they will never own
As they charge at themselves in mirrors
Like the Bulls on the stock

It’s Old money vs new money
In the name of a child

dressed to the nines but not for a trip too the Alps

the scents the foams the propeller blades

hiding on their  broken knees they second guessed

they beckon , the signs yield no clues on the maps

for the wrong place

the fabric caught

on barbed wire as they wheeze and stare at the middle

This distant is so far to run

the furnace the signals the curse of the dry tanker

the broken dash the taunting sheep

the men at day break with their poles

first catch radios

keep fit keep active

no shit Sherlock