What is your theory of change?
Isn’t it strange
from sun to sun there is none
but growing old,
told to rock no boat
but float
with the sodden vests and socks
in the gentle pull of tide on the rocks.

Change is the same.
I thump my chest
the beat, beat, beat 
heart and feet
over the pond and on and on;
you read like a sub
not a dom,

and I couldn’t care less
for the mess of our lives,
the buzzing of hives
a nettle rash hash of half thought lies
told as if the slant were level
and I were alive.

All that remains
is the dust of pain
on the wind of change
I try to arrange
my brain
from know to do
what’s true for you
when it’s me that’s blue.

No other hue
in the allusive crew
of colours naming others
it’s a bugger what I knew
and forgot as I shot my due
to hydrolyse the prize.
No wonder I get high,
It’s all the same.