When yearnings ain’t earned

You try and recover

And you try and reorder

And you try and reconsider

But a yearning has no right to exist

In 21st century cruel.

For 21st century cruel

Are the tools

Of choice:

The roles of riled nous.

And when thought is caught up

And snared in unholy mechanism,

And wondrous surveillance

Does make you as mad

As a tattered

Man of street, and you’ve no homing

Duck to fuck,

Then all you ever hoped for

And all you ever did

Reverts to the desire and holy wish

To earn a place of possible yearned.

I am lost without a degree

And the honours

Of a woman’s tender touch.

No longer violent encounter

Do I want for my silence:

Just the kiss of the kind

In the mind of early morning.

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