Choice then was a question of rope

Marked around your neck

Stand still on a chair

Take shape or take a step



To hang like an ancient fruit

We pick because we can

Now it’s lodged in the throat

Of every man



Rising when we swallow, bobbing hollow

And rotten in the shallowest option

When you squeeze your

Toothpaste from the bottom



Or freeze your bread in March

To make your toast in Autumn

To cut crusts off your blues

You pick but you never choose



And suddenly

You are the carrot and the stick

The baby and the abortion

The truth and the contortion



A believer and a skeptic

You submit and you’re the boss

You masturbate and then

You make the sign of the cross



You crave platitudes and their truths

But many hands make light work of

The broth already spoiled

By too many cooks



But it takes two wings for flight

So why cut off the right?

Soaring down

On liberal plights



If a God gave us two hands

Why use only one to write?

Penning our subjective dance

Always spilling out an inky stance



For maybe this child should live

And maybe this child should die

Maybe this man evolved

And this one perhaps designed by the sky



But perhaps maybe is the sharpest word

A coward’s way out

Bladed doubt and indecision

Cutting with mercurial precision



Leaving you bleeding

Passion without compassion

Want without need

Faith without creed



See if choice becomes a noose around your neck

Why would you ever take a step?

Only to hang in twilight balance

When you can stand defiant



So you stand



But what are you standing for?

In these times of

Making up your mind before

You’ve passed the flash and headline



See we learned from the start

That to chose is to lose

That if you roll to move square

You land naked and bare



Offering your cheek to trees

Unless of course you’re picking leaves

To cover this

To cover these



But there is a new testament

Beating in your breast

Where judgement is no noose

But the looseness in your chest



The house blend or the guest espresso

On your breath for twenty pence extra

The freedom of expression and poetry by extension

Contention of course



But where would we be

If we could not disagree?

If we could not beat our brother

If we couldn’t cheat on our lover



We’d be sowing seeds of reason

In a bland unseasoned Eden reaping

Fruit from cans, eyes drier in the cease-fire

But I like my fruit to rot not expire



We are polarised warriors

Not sorrier for the way we like to steep our tea

Decrees never come with apologies

Look no farther than the old book and see



That the snake was the same colour as the grass

You never could have seen it coming

You are the same size as the day

You never really know when you’re becoming anyway.





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