At thirty-two I feel no shame, I am
No less inspired; enraged, and vital still,
Though money'd power and hustling time
Attack for sport virginity of will.
Sometimes I've felt defeated by a smirk
Left deaf by sneers in London's diesel squall;
Saw Satan light a candle in the kirk
And say 'salvation first must see you fall'.
But no devil, Christ, no market's tick-tock facts
Can mark the scroll on which I scratch my truth.
The rebel's art keeps fantasy intact
A manifesto not enslaved to proof.
My hasting days in flight are still not done.
So listen up, you fuckers, and be dumb.