you owe i me what I gave you chewed in return and burnt the deeds now you owe i me got rid of the id shoved under the dustbin lid and showed the world your property you claimed me now you owe i me you see you saw the world in an oyster pearl and i as rudimentary grain of sand compressed in your hand and then your thoughts formed me but i was clean, you dirty yet you saw fit to polish me astonish me with fragmented philosophy given out over cups of tea now you owe i me I thought that thought was free but you laid penalties for me to suffer I the caller, you the bluffer until realism just got tougher and tougher to be I exhaust eventually now you owe i me after you hurled my conscience into a new world of appearance there i swirled through acceptance then unfurled with reluctance gave new definitions to the face of bravery now, oh yes now, you will owe i me. so I tip toe around the settee I creep across the sofa just to settle in your dust and collapse your casanova I steal your dead skin cells and collect your errant hairs count your toe nail clippings and bag your exhaled air wipe the sweat off your leathers catalogue your dreams take rapture in each nightmare enjoyment in each scream and if my identity was crushed by your fair hand I’ll adopt another entity start being a different man so since my fragile ego lies shattered, corpsed and dead I think I would rather like being someone else instead I will take each precious specimen and use my spite for glue if I cannot be me, I think you’ll see that I can be just like you Panning Home Our land is close, the end is near as the world turns, unstoppable. The horses loose, buck up and rear and won't return to their stable. As the world turns, unstoppable, where day and night forever jeer and won't return to their stable with skyline fogged, the stars unclear. Where day and night forever jeer as mists of time become fable, with skyline fogged, the stars unclear, each soul fading, quite unable. As mists of times become fable, the horses loose, buck up and rear; each soul fading, quite unable, our land is close, the end is near. Bio: Colin Dardis is a neurodivergent poet, editor and sound artist from Northern Ireland. His latest collection is All This Light To See The Dead: Pandemic Journals 2020-21 (Rancid Idols Productions, 2022). His work, largely influenced by his experiences with depression and Asperger's, has been published widely throughout Ireland, the UK and USA, and shortlisted for the Erbacce Prize, Seamus Heaney Award for New Writing, and Over The Edge New Writer of the Year Award, amongst others. Previous collections include Endless Flower (Rancid Idols Productions, 2021) The Dogs of Humanity (Fly on the Wall Press, 2019, shortlisted for Best Poetry Pamphlet, Saboteur Awards 2020), the x of y (Eyewear, 2018), Post-Truth Blues (Locofo Chaps, 2017) and Dōji: A Blunder (Lapwing, 2013). His latest album, a long-form ambient piece, is Back To Work (1tracktape, 2021).