Escape

Escape

Let the barbed wire sing
low synth laments of  breezes caught
on CCTV; plastic phantasmic in amber
and a glow fluorescent.  A nightingale taps
a beat on window pane twenty floors high
searching for anything green or sybaritic,
trying to catch the wink of a daisy’s eye
in concrete lands, tomblands, where crushed 
shards of broken bottles twinkle
in the star-shine of Telstar’s offspring. 
On the other side of the glass
speed queen Susi; never shuts up,
six stone six of jaw and bone
rolls over, pants and begs for wraps;
bad girl, good dog, in a tea stained T-shirt
and the Nike trackie bottoms
she nicked from Roman Road market.
Bass rhythms.  Base rhythms.  Resonates
in the hungry cries of her cunt spew brat;
the free gift that came with a drunken fuck.
Alley cat romance.  Dandelion love flowers;
piss dead.  Speed queen Susi; mother,
loves her fatherless SMA junkie to bits,
sings lullabies of far away places
where twilight swoons with nightingale voices
instead of sirens wailing and the undulating rumble
of another tube train heading east; beyond
Barking.  Skunk farms.  M25 raves.  Pirates rule
underground air waves.  Worshipping at the twin
deck altar; DJ God plays wicked tunes for his
faithless bong children.  Loved-up Susi               
looking for someone in laser lights, someone
to hold; euphoric.  Someone with the tattoo etched regrets
of a refugee hiding in the acid house attic,
nurturing a nightingale melody in drum vibrations,
riding vibrations, riding the last tube train to Tibet.