• It's a beautiful evening.
    That metallic roar on my,
    Forensic highway is just,
    The tip of the ice-burg that,
    My boat crashed into all those,
    Months ago. And that subtle,
    Smell of stolen takeaways,
    Takes me away to a place,
    My mother lets me stay and,
    I still call it home because,
    Home is where the heart is and,
    My heart was left in a place,
    Near the sea and a place that,
    You and me hide when winter's,
    Wrath punches us through the cage,
    Of rage we found down in old,
    Badger wood. So Geoffrey is,
    waiting with a baby that,
    I've never seen on this or,
    Any other sunday when,
    The leaves entrap my will to,
    Live and oh if I could I'd,
    Interrupt this contra-flow,
    Don't you know this season at,
    It's most beautiful is an,
    Assassin and I'm alone,
    As I write a poem on,
    My walk home.

    Oh how my lexis flows.