You might one day not win a local poetry competition 
In a Camberley bookshop that you once unsuccessfully applied for a job in.

Counting the failures,
The same poem might one day get published in an academic journal.

Then back to Camberley

You come second in a poetry slam

Out of two

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the desert rose
the first lady of hell on earth 
she takes my breath away

like poison gas

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An island again

Back to the edge of Europe

It's not the end of the world

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Forget most gangsta rappers

It's getting out of hand

When they say they know Killers

They're probably talking 'bout the band

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These words are loaded
Like Alfred Nobel's factory shed

After the explosions
May come the notoriety

After false reports of my demise
Will come some atonement

After the prize
Then hopefully the peace

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Do not blunder your knight

In games of love and war

Or all you may be left with is pawn

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