Prepping.
Pulling.
Stealing.
Shoving.
Shrinking.
Indelibly deranged.
 
These artists are out for a lick of blue blood tonight
All that conglomerate noise bellows at the twist of a naughty-faced breeze
 
And these banjaxed avenues are having it – fighting walls carried by misshapen, dilapidated buildings
 
Carries the case in self-permitted point?
Daft delinquents placing themselves insolvently within triangular nutshells
Cracked capitals, unresolved commas, and the deft deflection of the Stephen Dedalus apostrophe even when they fail to feel it
  
Aside the most mediocre aside in the whole exploding world
There is an enigma in this – reread it!! The tip of their utensil spells no such danger but for these people who fail to see what they wish to be
The thirsty ten-thousandth universe and the master still reigns worthier than the homeless man barely though
Refabricated till undeniably wrought-iron asphyxiated and ready to be perfectly reckless
 
They hold the lopsided surface of a two-faced pound coin while we grab at our beatnikking brushes – only which one sweeps the difference away?
 
Because to merely kill the beast of inspiration is to still stand bare naked, let it gather to breathe
Borrowing a piece of permission from both sides of that greatness
Divisive, snide-eyed, argumentatively egotistical
 
And their hands are the ‘blue-zone’ wherein the sweet pieces of manoeuvrable meat amount to underground persuasion – which screams what it seizes
 
Show them some respect and the respect that you’re showing will be the blood that they’re knowing