I’d love to be inside the head br of the Phantom Oner as she br strikes again… with one deadly One, br cuts the previous ten right down br to a grovelling 5.5… br br ‘that’ll teach you, you big-headed smug, br with your groupies and brown-nosers; all your pissy posse… br THIS IS NOT A POEM…’ br br and with one bound – I’m free! br br No longer need I try to write br a poem rich in metaphor like some jewelled scabbard, br declaring sparkling wealth and power; br distracting from the question, br is the sharp sword, of discrimination, br still there, sharp, inside? br br or a poem so full of music’s sound, br it sings itself into the mind br like leprechaun with emerald guile, br in the ear of sleeping child… br br or, any other sort of poem – br I’m free … now I know I can br please everyone, someone, no-one..