Untitled *The below is the #poem I would of read if I'd won at the Litrature festival. Imagine a room where the judges were all 50 somethings who were rather 'supprised' with my previous use of four letter words. Anyway, enjoy. And now it's to you, Those who read the pink sheets. The white sheet broad sheet biased as hell advert sheet. Those who know their smilies Metaphors stanza poetic versed family. That sit and grade me In the dark Reviewing my work without knowing the allegory. 'Bout to lambast another with a good or bad label, Does he win does he loose Can he buckle or follow suit. I'll tell you, I'll tell you. When I get out tonight win or not #life won't change... I'll still despise David, whether he did get a lardon down at the farm, still think all humans deserve a hand and not base it on merit or charm, and at the top of the list......think labelings to blame. Black white, purple green, one flag to another, I'm so damn tired hearing people shoehorn themselves into a group...be a fucking shepard and not part of the flock. You can sit there, tut and let opulent lips make sounds that only a dog should be able to hear....about how this isn't Byron, Plath or Yeates. How can I relate to fields of golden husk clambering to a yellow monolith when all I see is colour extending the gap....no wonder we reside in grey days. Ive been around this block so many times my callouses weep lies, I've despised cried obliged...now sigh. Sitting there eyes closed head down...deep in thought, about a 12 lined 16th century Peruvian #haiku about Gladys's shit day 40 years ago...my unforeseen impromptu tinnitus strikes again. I'm tired of this Groundhog Day poetic roundabout where I'm waiting for someone...with sponge ears to soak up the drivel, a gramophone mind to keep the record at play and a fog horn vocal passage to regurgitate the braided hairball of modern #life, to its cold wet conclusion and watch it slide down the side of your face. So I'll stand and be scrutinised...skin tougher than an intelligent conversation with a Sun columnist. I'm not anonymous...masked. I'm not left...because I know I'm right. I'm one of the many but of the few who's vocal strings aren't pulled by the puppeteers grasp. Things need to change.