Canary wharf — putney triathlon

Sodden to his water proof gilet

The calorie counting man
Paddles through to waterloo
With a handful of left over charity cake
He joins the rising peloton,

Passing the stuck gear gang,

Lights on yellow for the final sprint,
Bouncing through Waterloo,
Jubilee to platform twenty two,
A final sprint to the end of the line.

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Have I finished twisting,
contorting into hideous shapes,
as barbed wire pulled tight to a fence,
my mind spent finding the sum of x,
by using a pirates map.
A half-life wasted in lead,
bereft of the feelings I had,
Is this all I am left with?
Holes of pity for none but myself,
it yokes and pulls,
whips around my neck,
snapping to the flesh.
A load now must be beared
payment for things unsaid,
unheard and uncared.

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the urge to stop shrinks
slipping in the sink
water coloured dreams washed out
speak to me
heavy mind dragging
ticking clock dropping it’s needles
now not the face I used to love
moments before
but contorted and snarled
gnarled bark and sharp
speak to me
broken down lobes
globes of knowledge
now retired
shipped out with yesterdays garbage
why didn’t you speak to me

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Folded and licked

Left hanging by floss of a lion
bare and stripped to a thread
loose enough to fall
but unable to drop
why aim for the top
when the bottom is right here
the coin has two sides
I’m closer than I think
but further than I was.

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Why do we have little to say ,
when we have found our port,
not drifting around our blue marble,
slipping off and plummeting,
landing in a despairing creativity,
is it better to be Tom Hanks or Wilson,
not drowning and alive,
never able to live,
living would mean safety,
and a loss of who I am,

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The off-white dust falls on the kitchen counter,
mixing with yesterday’s pancake flour,
trying to save money while spending weight,
a new currency for my current hour,
but the website said I had to try,
get fit now and be a new guy.

Is this what the future tastes like,
a banana flavoured slime,
no chewing of the gristle,
onwards to a infantile time,
milky meals of coloured powder,
need to wash down my new chowder.

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With people that see a me I am not,
dancing under pixels in silence,
laughing, partying and connecting,
is this the future or the past,
it doesn’t feel like either,
but it moves to slow,
and the people to fast,
for me to find myself in the present.

I’m told to dance by those I can’t hear,
my body stays still,
my mind bounces to a new world,
wait I have been here before,
cool breeze, messy bedsheets,
focus,
take me back,
pulled under the surface,
my body pulses to the sound of

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