Cocktails with flowers
I’d say that’s the way to go
I look around
Forks and knifes in pretend tins
Black boards in pretend handwriting
This flower is real
Swimming in my pretend elixir:
infused tea gin.
Pretend romance hairdos
Feet in pretend power shoes
But this flower is real
Floating in my pretend fun evening
Energising my pretend self-sufficient grin
Perhaps none of us are pretending.
Even the fake utilitarian tins
in this fashionable down-to-earth theatre of a bar
have a right to reality
A right to exist
Let’s all become
Are they pretentious?
Oh, spare the flowers
They can’t pretend
I am this jolly drunk flower.
Let me just be.
For Jedi masters & disciples
Appropriated by everyone
Walked, raced through
Closely observed or unconsciously overlooked
Dearly adored and deeply misunderstood
Once in, always, impossible to ignore
What is Liverpool?
Liverpool is the sound of an ice cream van at midnight
It’s a bomb of colour at sunset
It’s Rapunzel with broken nails
It’s a drumkit at a sociology office
It’s a pirate rock band made of public officers
A song with your unknown driver
A kebab amongst filmmakers
It’s a rants amongst strangers
Bad food in good company`
Warpaint to party hard
It’s a kingdom of wild cats
Princeling rubbish bins
It’s two birds, the size of buses
And many buses, to oblivion
Liverpool is a river that dreams the sea
An ocean that dreams the city
A city that dreams you, and punches you, and revolts you,
and entraps you, and makes you a slave
Liverpool is a dreamspace that makes you a slave of its beauty,
its tackiness, its dirt, its excess and its truth.