don’t talk about science. to born again christians. might is right. and that’s what’s darwinian. here come the hawks. so convinced of their ideology. so embarrassed by their biology. so sure of their rightness. there’s nothing left to explain. shoot first and don’t intellectualise. it’s someone else’s pain. staggering forward like some demented blind giant. claiming the high ground to back their defiance. it’s all or nothing. it’s us or them. no time to question the ideas they defend. no curiosity. only what’s to gain. bring on the violence. they’re hungry for change. loaded and toothless and hopeless at sex. the confusion is no illusion. nor the righteous excess. air cooled and drug fuelled and set to explode. carelessly clutching their dangerous load. on their quest for glory. they shoot from the lip. bringing on the destruction. let it rip. endlessly repeating. what’s my mantra. so easily forgotten. standing there. trying to remember. while smug bastards tell me of their magnificence. the only smart thing about them is their suits. over-opinionated. under-employed. and when they leave there’s nothing but the smell of wasted promise. and bite-sized bits of the bleeding obvious. served up in spades. who do i protect. why do i forget. what’s my mantra. a flawed reliance on pseudo-science. simplistic. holistic. euphemistic. mathematicians into long division sometimes possess a splendid vision. football matches. fishing catches. creaky boards and rusty latches. biting wit and annoying grit. wear away at where you sit. no longer soft and comfortable. first you stumble. then you fall. jazzy junky. hippy trippy. funky punky country. happy hippy. paris lippy. do the funky monkey. cocky rocky. choppy socky. jumpy rumpy. pumpy. jazzy punky. funky country. the monkey is the junkie. it’s a long long road before us. till we join the sorry chorus. and all the hate we create. surely comes home to haunt us. so let’s take the first sorry step. sooner is always best. and walk the road before us.