Blind Wantons Like The Gulls Who Scream

World Is Crazier And More Of It Than We Think, Incorrigibly Plural. I Peel And Portion A Tangerine And Spit The Pips And Feel The Drunkenness Of Things Being Various.

There Seeps From Heavily Jowled Or Hawk-like Foreign Faces The Guttural Sorrow Of The Refugees.

Blind Wantons Like The Gulls Who Scream And Rip The Edge Off Any Ideal Or Dream.

A Pharaoh's Profile, A Krishna's Grace, Tail Like A Question Mark.

A City Built Upon Mud; A Culture Built Upon Profit; Free Speech Nipped In The Bud, The Minority Always Guilty. Why Should I Want To Go Back To You, Ireland, My Ireland?