Farm fields drowned in free-flowing kaleidoscopic eleven high play.
Captain ball kicking. White lady floating. Shooting star ends the day.
It’s a mirage. An oasis of what was would and what could be.
Treading forward. Always stopping, never further than that tree.
BMX customise. Profiteering maximise.
Super shiny trefoil badges. A silver spray tantalising.
Closed at 10. Home to rest. Speccy on. Matchdays best.
Chap door run. Fucked up hide and seek.
A dash and hide with weird time freaks.
1-4-8 their rash and evil. Class A’s and wandering souls.
Lost looking for life landmarks cause no one’s ever home.
Bursting balls. Stabbing legs. Setting fires. False dawn falls.
Chapping 1-4-6, Dolly dancing to Tammy’s dash.
That hidden drawer with big gees soft porn stash.
Two boys. Bigger cousins. 10,000 Aunts. Uncle Josie Fancy Pants.
1-3-6 two solo battlers. Daddy’s left and Mum’s the rock.
Always calm never rattled.
He pops in, pops on, pops off. Never around, just Birthday drops.
He suffers from arsehole amnesia. Menzies vouchers just sent to please her.
Their left to struggle. Left to survive and thrive on a piss-soaked purple carpet dive.
1-3-2 it’s the rockabilly king, lost his throne and gone too soon.
Loved, cherished by his own.
Elvis reborn. Heart shook up, ripped then torn.
His spirit lives on in his little Burlesque ginger one.
I’m at 1-4-2 dreaming of that life beyond.
Ice cream saviours, sprinkled with memories gone.
Torn by ideas to be somewhere, somewhere beyond this home.
Living in curiosity spaces, a world sketchbook drawn.
The lifers said……
Remember who you are.
Where you’re from.
Where you’re at.
Not dreams of travelling to.
Stay in line.
Know your limits.
Fit in the box.
You’ll be fine.
I was, so will you!
But if you, were you.
You’d find a space to play your way to new.
To experiment and imaginate a world beyond these rules.
Break the shape in other ways.
To find a path to new.
Draw squiggly lines. Have goofy days.
Be something else, be you.
Say no to a life of trade compliant bullshit strife.
It’s bigger, its better, its fucktasmic my dear boy.
Kick it off captain, drown and bathe in seas of simple joy.
Do backstroke, butterfly, belly flop. Swim far, dive deep, be free.
Let that white lady soar, sky high for you, and discover beyond that tree.