Solomon…, Solomon…, kingly grace
Imperfectly coordinated with she-mind twisters.
Wild chelation: some cofactors, some inhibitors.
One lesson is just too many.

It comes in a vertical embrace,
Upward journey into the wee of night.
London bells like I have heard.
Sweet sleep perturbed by zazzy waves.
And tick-tock race, chasing my dreams.

It comes so soon as it fades so fast,
Racing tracks to an unseen end.
Talk yester-in, then the reach.
Splattered, sweated ink on whitened blank
With worthy plans to splash on it.

Plan for it, work on it, and rest in it.
Think headwise and not waistwise.
Headseed first does end in fame.
Waistful thought endures in pain.
Quitted-morrow is ignorance's dad.

Those who forelook rejoice in it.
Those that wish-watch regret in it.
Today’s seed is its tree.
Take the pill for the pain
And tomorrow is its gain.

Was it not for joy they praised your ‘fairest’ birth
And plaited hair unend - your weavy piggy tail
Like lily grown on alluvial plain?

Was it not a halo placed on your rosy head
As mother pulled on end, and you leapt on holy ground
Like Papal’s pet and sanctuary blessed?

Was it not all “yeah”, they nodded to agree,
That a future bright and temple well garnished
Will break the curses earned in decades past?

How the heart of stone did oust the flesh of good
Prided deluded beauty, hewed for filthy dogs.
Saying with all the zest…“it’s now my life to mind”

Is it not a shame that every Jack has seen,
Foiled, and ployed with fille, so tender and so dear
Like roses red… plucked at ease and will by geng?

Is it not a shame that every Jack has caused
Unwholesome dent on flossy smoothy silk,
Unspeakable merch…deeds of rusty spite?

Is it not a shame that every Jack has felt
Fair Angelina faded from filthy crusty perks,
Angelic at birth… but fallen down to grass?  

Is it not a shame that every Jack has seen
Pure flow of red and sealed treasure robbed,
Previously bloomed for the worthy “he”?

Live a public life in a private room
Like you wouldn't dare in all senses full
Beckon on crawlers with witless fun
Credentials exposed and signatures unzipped

It is only a stage…so they say
Showcase an act…reward some friends
Punish the fiends…in **** pretence
False rewards...for borrowed talents

Real friends in life…may not emoji click
Real wolves in mind…but friends by finger-flick,
Hallowed patronage…perfected in falsehood.
Pictures and status…served to dangerhood

Blade the stitches that once were mended
Crash the home…popularity cheapened
Enlarge the circles of fishers-hookers
Full of foolishness and wisdom killed

More pound, the techman…and less, the player.
Seekers of fun from the peppered ghost
Hookers’ desire and vultures' delight.
Awake, o e-man, and protect the real man.

In the olden days when Odin was here...
Ancestors, I heard, had bats to share
And boasted of toasted roast.
Generational gapes at pages flamed.
Covered by the new breeds - well in reads
Have discovered death lurking in the dead.
What do we have here? Generation Zed
Not a clime, not a county,
Not a country,
But a people of all colours
Upon a boast not to roast the toast,
Fishes out death with her teeth.
While the creature performs the last dance,
Strangled between an unfriendly roof and tongue.
The column, the elution, the ******
The filter, the blood, the virus
The mouth, the cough, the mask
The cold, the fever, the plague
Cries and tears: the accusations.
The forbidden must be forfeited.