For it seems, the cigarette’s been caught smoking itself yet again…
 
An uncomfortable method of potential recovery and the sniper simply sits – purposefully tongue-tied
All juvenile eyes rise invisibly alongside
The unmatched concentration of his leaning brothers in swarmed arms
 
Filed inside of an ill pocket-lining go his reloaded bullets which will pardon themselves one at a time and take
 
Dedicated aim at the one and lonely who truly matters now – the enemy-in-waiting, the flag-swearing, acid-taking
 
Amiably blind sonofabitch imbecile, who holds his own liquid tongue loosely and remarkably rotting, whilst wrapped downright dishonourable apprehensible’s right the way round-about his own paralysed/paramilitarised waistline
 
A whole pair of two separate nations with shaken silhouettes of them silenced selves sitting upright to take an incoherent witness by the grip of their identifiable teeth
 
And this is important…
 
Through those vacuous telly scenes of poverty-stricken theirs – all underqualified eyes will equally arise – as the audience’s naked instincts attempt to proceed to prod and feel it all
 
The forbidden pulsation of a too many million riddled silver-screens – pockmarked and predominantly pixellated by the naked faces of misbehaving pupils and upstanding students
 
Pull-prepared out of school till left-right tilted mindbogglingly back inside
 
Of a most masterfully unnatural aside – marvellous kind of a juvenile detention, worth a hundred multiplied mentionings and recklessly, readily, restlessly digressing til bleeding heavily upon their very own parent’s televised deliveries
 
Whipsmart at being rather riotously real/fake news to suit segregated generations and we sneeze and excuse ourselves at the thought of anything else but for the tooth of the twisted truth
 
RTE, BBC, all of our least hated media-driven people who weren’t even there in the beginning, yet – forever holding the wartorn words of the world as a punctuated, punctured sort of secondary hostage
 
These sudden, sullen kinds of a forthright international remark – guised whilst blissfully Elizabethan kissed amidst surprisingly salubrious surrounds
 
Way over the wind-swept ocean, the torpedo flows, and beneath all green pastures and gentle, gracious, persuasive, pervasive grenades, ripples begin a-blowing – surely there has to be a song in there somewhere for the likes of Bobby to sing… which Bobby is it, though…
 
The Barenaked odyssey of reinforced Irish adolescents into far-reacting, -reaching Smithereens
 
Hungry for more, what will it be: esoteric poverty or propagandised affluence this time? While they fill their sinning pockets lined with red-blood-money either side of the triangular divide
 
Because, rest unassured, there are still bad men sleeping with the enemies of mad women and with their trousers commonly dropping
To correct the celestial divide – the phenomenal person wears their own clothes, stands for their own, or is it upon their own!?
 
For once,
One underlying, undying night in London town, when we wore all smiles and non-violence for all the right reasons

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