poet. writer. imposter.
this is how it ends/ in a fluorescent sucker punch/ a crass museum of basics no longer affordable/ with fights breaking out among the yellow stickers/ trojan poverty rebranded as frugal/ frugal rebranded as lazy/ where the threat of the two-meal riot/ becomes a reality/ for the first time in a hundred years/ where diseases once consigned/ to the where are they now file/ rear their heads and gift children lifelong pain/ as a sacrifice to the gods of private healthcare/ where the pace of living outstrips the ability to adjust/ and the clamouring for more and more and more consumes the fabric of what it is to be human ++stop++ this is how it ends/ with seas boiling and rancid waste/ dumped in the abyssal depths/ rising in protest/ taking us in a choke-hold/ with muscular arms built by petrochemical cunning/ where fish spit plastic/ where poison is injected into faces / scared of losing their past/ scared of an ugly future of fire and smog and rising tide/ where relevance is no longer determined by skin stretched to breaking point ++stop++ this is how it ends/ with hard won identities scrapped by mob mentality/ freedoms lost to testosterone fuelled idiocy/ the society of the pissing contest/ drowned by the schizophrenic ravings of the lost and ignominious belligerent ++stop++ this is how it ends/ in polar division where glorious grey tones are ousted/ replaced by binary logic and fake tribalism/where the if you’re not with us crew demands more and more for no compromise/ where generosity is a suspicious weakness/ and theft a divine strength/ where basic decency is lost to crass cubicle thinking/ where the famed dunkirk spirit is contorted and used to justify self-righteous masochism/ where the spiritual good is shredded to justify atrocity/ where sweet self becomes corporate sour/ and living is nothing without logos/ where desperate cries of humiliation are captured and monetised/ where disciples of hippocrates crawl through pools of shit/ waiting for the deluge to ease long enough/ to walk to food banks ++stop++ this is how it ends/ with the broken hearts of optimists/ gasping for clean breath/ in the last stuttering throes of yawning myocardial desolation/ hearts of gold smelted by ruthless goldsmiths/ ashes sifted and repurposed/ vibrant lives discarded and upcycled into facile replicas/ eyes smiling/ head vacant/ tattooed grins betraying their integrity/ a curio and caustic indication/ of outdated thinking/ where blessed unity can be redefined as frigid division/ and squallid bulldog ego/ casts away the colour it once valued/ the acquisition it once craved/ still believing against all indications that it is important/ a playa/ but now trapped between scylla and charybdis ++stop++ this is how it ends/ in the haze of a chemical cosh/ in a war between the knee-jerk and the rational/ between evidence and opinion/ between fact and false logic/ a precious truth/ an impotent outpouring / naïve hope amid the spume and breathless/ tarred between carbon glut and clean air ++stop++ this is how it ends/ on love island/ in the jungle/ on ice/ it ends/ not when we notice that we are poor and sick and starving/ but when they take away the soaps/ the football and bingo/ the kfc and maccy d/ the wi-fi and 4G ++stop+ this is how it ends/ with caustic soundbite/ and mephitic swivel-eyed sloganeering/ schismic social media leading the syphilitic charge/ with empty plazas lined by beacons of commerce/ promising wealth and plenty/ lights on but empty to exploit the tax breaks/ their doorways housing tents and cardboard/ soiled by bullingdon piss/ ++stop++ this is how it ends/ dickinson’s lament/ and forster’s dystopia/ this is how it ends/ this is how it ends/ stop the machine/ the machine stops ++stop++
I’m in a bad mood and make no excuses for the naive ranting. Looks better and more deranged in 1942 font.