One for sorrow (The thief of enjoyment)

He'd left the house nasty,
entered the club hooded,
not listening to the music,
only watching pockets
aware of door-men and boots,
drugs and fire escapes.

As the crowd fed on music,
he flew snatching trances
from around the necks of wet chests.
A calculating magpie collecting gold chains,
disappearing in a flap of black and white.
A Stanley knife talon
ready to give out another smile
every time his wings got clipped.

When the police finally caged him,
he was rolling back carpets
in his mothers downstairs flat,
hiding another fear soaked stash.