Time is a Circle Death is a Joke You’ve Heard Before

Baby imagine you and I were the last two people on Earth,
And we didn’t hate each other

Instead
With gritted teeth
And eyes closed
Naked as the denuded fields
We make life reborn
In the same animosity
That killed it

18/3/18


Photo by jean wimmerlin on Unsplash

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No Salvation Only Sometimes Comfort

No Salvation Only Sometimes Comfort 

We live in a sprawling museum of taxidermy and photo prints

Where everything is fake smile

And profile pic

And we don’t look good

Except when we’re posing for mementos of holiday bliss

Under waxwork fake tan

On an artificial beach

A glossy spectacle of

Signifier and surface

Where nothing is really gold anymore

Sure, we’ve got fools gold, gold plaiting, rose gold

But these aren’t celebrated for what they are

But as what they might be mistaken for

We live on the surface of the world and get buried in its pores

Beneath its plastic surgery addiction

Its concrete implants

Because everything is plastic now

Even money

Even gold

No more authentically a forest than a teak panel

No more bark of ugly face

Everything is whitewashed

And made-up

And faux-designer

And we all know we’re better than each other

So I stay inside my artificial ecosystem where

There’s a million channels to flick through

A million sites to visit

And still I suspect none of them will hold the answer I’m looking for.


 

THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR ANY OF US THE SLAVE PROCESSION CONTINUES ON FOREVER

THE WORLD IS ROUND FOR A REASON: SO YOU CAN RUN FOREVER AND INEVITABLY GET NOWHERE

 

AT LEAST IF WE CALL IT HELL WE’D HAVE SOLACE IN KNOWING THIS IS AS BAD AS IT GETS

A Colour That Hints At Your Flesh

From an incredible distance I see your pixels dance in my hand, your skin as luminous as I remember it being even if I did have to turn the brightness all the way up. You whisper into the wind that bends the fronds words I hear clearly in my inner ear from this condemned other hemisphere. You are elemental, like I always said. You have more energy than the sun. You are everlasting like the tide; something that cannot be lost. What it means to be a women, whatever occult secret that is, you have it written on the down of your skin—I only regret not learning how to read better.