Are You Lost Yet?
This is probably the longest, most misquoting and meandering poem I’ve written. All intentional.
I ponder through each chartered street
out before it rains. I mark
in every face I’ll never meet
numb my stomach
exhaust my name and
eat the intelligence I was told about.
Clarity lacking “Hiya, I was just wondering,
are you hiring?”
resistance is carried out
without active support
of the mass of the people -
the mass of the people
tangled in wireless disconnections.
revolutions will be tweeted
and petitioned online
if at all
access to Wikipedic knowledge -
we work to sleep to earn to eat.
These are the reasons why
United Kingdom of
tell me about the old days.
Tupperware party, party line
tea around the table
I’ll knit you a scarf
popping round the neighbours
and locals’ grocery stores -
we that are young
will never see so much
as an hour without 3G
or live so strong.
But ageing population = welfare burden
so we shut you up and
call it care
and lose the good bits of the days you woke up early to live.
Age is wasted on the young
I’m tired of being tired.
and I’m tired
of what we do to get by
at out of town department store extensions to the dual carriageway
@ no-need-to-move-at-all (dot) com, plus shipping costs,
there’s 25% off:
- sweatshop soldiers
- bulldozed farmers
- dead horse red meat
- distant daughters,
put on reduction racks
overpriced half price more in the back
in suits our tax-haven pirates loot
land snatchers grab from Zurich
there are bones in those clothes
and that’s blood in your coffee.
I hope you feel as s*** as I do
when I queue for it.
Every time you open her fridge
I taste the era of repeat prescription,
take a pill to fix the come down
a short term repair, long term
cancer. on every shelf
what am I even trying to achieve yoghurt pots
publish use by date life expectancies.
What are you even trying to achieve?
ne tomber pas dans la mÃ©diocritÃ©
hope I live before I get old
it’s not the landing it’s the fall that matters. So
will you still love me when we’re no longer
a part of this
costume drama reality? TV dreamland
rewrites the rules like they’ve always been:
I before we except after
me me me –
front seat pedestrians,
kill ourselves for recognition
will be famous for nothing.
Please, and with the greatest disrespect,
let the iron lady rust
in as much peace as she left on these streets
where I bare knuckle drive
headlong through valleys of front page royal news
the PR monarchy lying beside
misogyny on page 3
and another Express cure for Alzheimer’s
please don’t let me mansplain but
dare I say, feminism has gone too far
and not nearly far enough.
Ye governing fathers, provoke not your children to wrath
hacking phones to pay the bills
state cut backs, but billions on stadiums
underage rape behind the camera
and let’s all help the heroes paid to torture and defend oil reserves.
Brave. Or just another slave to the elite in denial
who compete for the podium themselves designed?
Fund your own schools. Twist your own rules.
Mad world! Mad kings! Mad composition!
Islamophobia homophobia xenophobia
and our holy water is
h2o my god.
Bad religion brings you to your knees
killing in the name of
Jesus, Muhammad and all the archangels hate gays
our House of Lords vote to deny
this interpretation of a lie
and this time I rejoice
revolution was petitioned online
thou art most rich being on the right side of history
and thanks be to
our hostage democracy let out on day release.
The but, inevitable
career politics, pledges as hollow as
together we are somebody
and the cure to the obesity problem is
to let them eat cake produced on a line that handles nuts.
With someone not sober I was having this discussion
and the sickener hit
I have travelled a good deal in 747
been inspired overseas
ideas and energy equals change in day to day
as I document new locations, self-improve, empathise
I infect, pollute. All the while
the greatest threat to the human race
is the selfsame.
I skim read the news and it sure looks bad
I’m going to a town that has already been knocked down
for malls to be dug into the sand
was just a dream some of us had.
Still I hum
all I have to do is move your little finger
move my little finger and
I can change the world;
your apathy’s awkward silence will embolden,
behold, as I stand at the door and knock.
Screen alive until power off black,
me scrolling handheld contacts
to avoid eye contact. I send
a text to
“Modern life is a curious zoo.
Are you lost yet?”