Death IS my dominion
Starlight blinded Zombie Thomas,
You flow over London bridge with the rest,
Patronising, haunted,
A leather-bound Dylanesque anxiety guitar.
Inglorious, muddy Roman-Greco mechanical wrestling
echoes through the trenches of Khandahar,
fuelled by the throat-red shrill of frightened banshee teens.


My death will be glorious.
This death will be my own.
But no red pin will cradle my lapel,
Not on white tracksuit tops
Or on  baseball caps,
Turned backward in futile defiance
To whatever is left of rebellion.