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