Mar18

The sun was lost in the soot As black as my boot, Flowering from the dreadnoughts, Orange blooms and streaks, Bleak as my thoughts. The blue to black output Curling from the deep root Cut, slashed into each hull, Birthing slick oil tracks Back to each laughing skull. Wilfred Owen, English poet and soldier, was…

Nov04

Playlist of a Doomed GenerationFear now for the young, So fixed on the streets. For there is no captain For this doomed youth, Just the grinding of metal on bone. The streets are their trenches, Their poppies spat fromSpray cans on a concrete canvassAnd the playgrounds and dark corners bear All the bloody stains of…