Art, Poem, poetry, politics, Uncategorized

Royal cigarettes

Better world, where is the better world

I’m down chained to the earth with no beauty around

and I dream about

white pages and black india ink

and a bench in acacia hedge garden

but no

it all belongs to the queen

and I belong on the street

on the pavement which belongs to the nation

and I smoke my cigarette under the foggy sky

because I can

but what am I going to do

what am I going to do

when the state say

‘you can’t smoke on the sidewalks anymore’?

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