Atomic Age

Call this the atomic age
because we’ve split
separated right down the mind’s eye
and even my own selves
are strangers

neurotic and afraid
it’s all just a wait now,
for the wind to blow,
expansive clouds to form
and the disjointed
to become the destructive

Pay Down on Beauty

I want to put beauty down
create nothing more than delicate wonder
with a few simple words
laid down with no force
and no thought
but even beauty now seems to have owners
and whatever I can see
and love
seems to step into the copyright
of an indifferent class
who don’t see what they hold
but keep it in a death grip
nonetheless

And all I still own
is frustration
and anger
that no one values
at least not until markets shift
enough for even that
to be taken away

Possessions

You own the houses
the streets
the shops
the grass
the grey
the ground
the walls
the sky

There’s no taking them back
but do you have to take the rest?

Do you need the feelings?
the love
the anger
the security?

Do you need our past?
do you need every memory
every lost evening
every lazy day
every fear
and every hope?

You don’t even know you have them
but you do
and all we’ve got left
is the long list
of your possessions
and a fading memory
of where they came from

When We Loved

You cornered me with love
a contortion into hate
between what you said
and what you did
who you claimed
and who you were
a chaotic contradiction
out of which I ended up believing
that to control
was to care
and to fear
was to feel

You wielded over me all the power I longed for
through force you shaped my self
while I wished to have a different form
but incapable I gave myself over to you
to make me what I thought was better
but which turned out to be just you,
your image,
your dream
and your ideal
broken imitations
of who I used to be
and corrupted lies
of who I should be

In the end I broke our love
or so you said
yanking at frayed ropes which had bound me
trying to drag me back into your world
as I sought out a new one

I’d like to say the power is mine now,
that my hands took over
but I know that’s not true
over every move I make
lingers your so called love
eager to recount
another cruel fable
of who I used to be
and who I should be

Time stands at my side though
the time I need to forget
and regrow
beyond the chaotic contradiction
of your love

A Connection, I Suppose

This body politic is infected
broken down by a pathogen that’s half self aware
half selfish
insidious in nature
consuming in scope
and proud to say it’ll get us
before any other disease will
a form of connection
I suppose

This country’s economic ghetto
is under the thumb
held in stasis by a financial Cosa Nostra
maintaining order through exploitation
and tradition through corruption
with ageing Dons counting cash
assuring the hungry that it only gets worse
when new gangs arrive
holding us safe from invasion,
only to kill us themselves
a form of connection
I suppose

This home and castle
has a Lord
claiming Prima Nocta
to fuck us
and calling it Right
because who put up the walls that keep the enemy out?
Who swings the sword against the outsider
even before we’ve heard their name
or had a chance to know why they came
attention drawn away
by cap doffing obedience
to Regal right
a form of connection
I suppose

This story has no ending
not the way it’s told
the dulcit tones just carry on
until the body’s cold
always reassuring
that the teller’s got it right
always disavowing
any poor, unknown insight
It’s words are getting louder
it’s silences obscure
and the chance of thinking round it
ain’t quite there any more
a form of connection
I suppose

But we still have one reminder
of what we were and are
beneath all of the diseases
and Mafiosi power
we’re the one’s who live life
not the ones who say it loud,
not the ones who run it
or build walls
and steal crowns
and sooner rather than later
the body will react
locals will stop paying dues
all that bowing we’ll retract
we’ll find the final fullstop
start on another page
and all of those connections
will be from a dying age