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Shankanalology – The Science of Poetic Anger

Well gosh, it seems I’ve been annoyed enough to put some more poems together in a bumper box of punch. Once again I feel I should apologise for being quite so irritable. However it does reduce that bubbling pain in my chest when faced with utter incompetence and stupidity. It’s better than gassing them. For them, obviously. From my point of view they should be removed from the gene pool. Most of these are written while at work – an excellent diversion from the screen for a minute and very relaxing to compose. I hope you enjoy them; I’m sure your own workplaces are at least as annoying. If you fancy getting these more frequently follow @shankanalia on Twitter.

Hunt you,
Docile prey.
Wedged in.
Fat man,
Arrogant youth;
Bars of your beating cage.
No escape.
Hunt you,
Docile prey.
Apathetic pack.
No protection.

Crammed tight,
Packed in,
Bus full of window licking fools,
Airless box,
Smelling of other people.
Living like this:

Your sweat hems me in,
Your face is oppression.
Proximity to you
Why I loathe your city.
To live as you,
With you,
By choice:
A death;
Not mine.

Congenital Brilliance
Your mum drank in labour,
Your dad is a fool,
Consequentially you,
Are outwitted by the pool.
If only you’d drown,
But your fat makes you float

You Are Not My Responsibility
The painful slowness of your mind,
Makes me want to die inside,
But it’s your fault,
Not mine.
Or your mum’s fault.
Not mine.
Or your dad’s fault.

Saturday Night
Smiling faces,
Dead eyes,
Out for fun with the wife,
Pretty young things catch her eye,
Dead eyes,
Dead eyes.

Come consciousness,
Force me into your glove of awareness.

I’m Here To Help
You talk to me,
I listen.
You spout gibbering tosh,
I listen.
You express a worthless opinion,
I listen.
I can’t help you,
You’re an idiot.

You call me once,
Three times,
And you’re out.

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