Yearning for love all dreamers yearn and plan,

absorbed in open books with pulsing hearts,

but sighs that slander birth,

dark breaths that obscure panes,

are all that love has dealt the urban man.


Obsessive bliss escapes him, he derides

the red moon with unfiltered eyes, removed

to dim clandestine doorways,

fumbling at junk fed flesh,

the suckled breasts of old unfaithful brides.


Alone, when heat grows cold, sometimes he fires

out long barbed thoughts to distant blemished hours,

the mysteries and intriques,

the stench of human depths,

recall anticipated toxic spires.


Disjointed now, his tv night has ran

through pseudo sex, subtitled Nordic charms,

what yet remains concludes,

devoid of eager paths,

low life has somehow failed the urban man.




Mike Mcnamara
Illustration Rupert Loydell

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