For my DJ friend


This one doesn’t plug-in the mains, must adapt to fit the mould,

Not as straight-forward as the rest, not the connector you were sold.

Mad intensity because he knows it, you can’t ignore the sound,

LOUDER and it will find you, on the commuter belt of the underground.


Trying desperately to tune it, pumpkin-eyes open to the noise of escape,

Your pupils are small but the light seeps through, in some multi-dimensional shape.

Stick your head inside the sub mate, rattle atoms till there’s no more thought,

Eyes closed but your cells still jumping, no real blindness to what you’ve bought.


BANGER the girl is screaming, a blonde jumpstart and explosive spark,

High off tangible sound waves, muscle that pulls you from the dark.

The adaptor isn’t needed, just heart and mind as you drop the track,

Rocketed up there somewhere, as the sky and her cheek bones crack.