Manchester

the sound of gunfire split the air
i try and make some sense of this my personal pain
an evil crow
his mind as black as his tarry feathers - screeches
and retches
filth from a calloused beak

sometimes your words
wipe all thoughts away
only a residue of hurt remains

big words
god and love
trip through windey lanes
empty mouths

a lonely golfer stands
on an empty stretch of course

only the faint aroma of fifteen years ago
awakens the old longing

we crawl into noon's crawltown
MANCHESTER PICADILLY

soon are queueing at the
foot of another spiralled stairwell
enter a forgotten room
funkademia, slow
funky deep tunes
tripped out funky boy-student
girls slice
dry ice

so retro babe, so funkin' retro

inhale the smell of clubbing
exhale the sounds of long-gone decades

spill out into
kebab shop litter
all neon and stuff
and the students are filling the world
with packaged love