David Kessel

The Self-Obsessed
for the Tory Party

The laughter of spivs
from the suburbs of Hades.

Insane through arrogance,
does his own head in.

Disaffections of the driven dead,
patriarchs loved in home and head.

Mod-tech love-making,
celestial nothingness.

Vainglory of toff accent,
cosmology of self.

Sexuopathic Knightsbridge god,
gadgets, gimmicks and guns.

Fucks like a machine-gun,
doesn’t know the girl exists.

And his biggest problem,
which wine with his pudding.

Zilch of human kindness,
dust to dust.

When we share
we think of others.

David Kessel © 2014

Fury

There was a time when I was young
when I first learn to face the sun.

Grew in me a burning sight
bitter and lonely as the night.

Held a girl in sweet embrace
and made her memory my life.

Suffered patriarch’s contempt
futility split my mind.

Came to love old London Town
and hummed an anarchist’s lament.

At heart-rending Peckham Rye
ask, What, How and Why?

The kingdom of the dead
or a living commonwealth?

David Kessel © 2014