Never been much good
At football
But have developed
This passion
For drop kicking
The black box of
Alleged reality.

And, although,
Foot-stamping
Has never really been
My thing,
I take a perverse pleasure
From kicking sand
Into the smug face
Of the automaton.

And, although
I am mindful of
Imposition,
I find myself
Quite regularly,
Banging my fists
At limitation’s door.

And, never one
To resist advances
I spurn, nevertheless
The cold, presumptuous embrace
Of impossibility.

I always stand
My ground
So it surprises me
The speed at which
I flee from the
Concrete walls of creed
Behind which
The beast licks
It’s lips
With justifiable
Complacency.