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.
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