Spiral Jail

Cries of anguish spout forth in fear
Who can I believe?

The postman is my wife’s best friend
My heartache a banker’s leer
Our priest buys his VCR, our sacrifice 
My own resolutions end this January hour

So I delve into the closet for a skeleton feast
Place them in a heated age
Let loose the flow into a sculptured mould
Cool past the molten phase
F O R G I V E N
Because man is made man and not a priest 
We make mistakes from embarassed rage
So forgive us for our lives which now unfold
Trying, we’re blocked by the wall amazed

SPIRAL JAIL II

My heart should be flushed, rid of doubt
Which way will I turn?

The corner store is poverty’s struggle
Oceans separate blood by water
Sex becomes video’s smorgasbord selection 
This home is shelter against my mortgaged soul

Author: Andrew Pitchford
Written: 22/11/1990