What I really want to say

What I really want to say,
is what my eye winks in twitches.

My repeated head scratches
say to me, that the way to write is with irony,

and I am, after all
angry at everything.

I hang Banksy stencils in the loo
and sit sometimes, thinking about

stanley knife cutting out scenes from my life
and copy pasting them to police interview room windows.

There are whole sections,
my eye pulses, 'not to keep'

especially the bits I did to an Aphex beat,
thinking my ego was something fast asleep.

I think, there are laws against this sort of self-satisfaction,
as I side slice chorizo and bin whole loaves of bread.

The kippers that I cook for tea
wink and wink and wink in the heat

and the sizzle says to me,
eat the fuckers faster.