Houdini

What a piece of work a man is
What an ugly piece
With his greasy fingers swollen as he
Tears chunks from the feast

And as the maelstrom outside threatens
To disturb his selfish peace
He pulls strips from the sacrifice
And feeds them to his beast.

Who lurks beneath the table
Houdini’s favourite pet
Who says “this ain’t peace, it’s complacency,
It’s the best that you can get..”

Oblivious, ignoring the rapping at the door,
One thousand baying bailiffs or the undeserving poor,
Or a flock of dirty wolverines, feet all broke and sore
Or apolocolyptic carol singers singing songs of war
Or the line of swollen bellies,
That stretches out sight,
Or the Molehills forged from mountains,
In a world too fucked to fight…

Houdini pulls the cord,
And draws the heavy curtains tight
Houdini turns the tunes up,
Turns the beast out for the night.

Houdini dims the lights
And pours another glass of gin,
Turns the clock and mirror to the wall,
Time shall not time him,

So Houdini doesn’t notice
His cardboard walls cave in
As sucker punches pit his gut,
And the virus strips his skin

He sold his soul for dreams of peace,
Now Houdini’s rictus grin,
And a blind eye turned in ignorance,
Are all that’s left of him.