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30 May 2017

Stricken

Solar-Eclipse

I met my morning with a lithium flush

the crew preferred the traditional libations

we stood unfurled in our own skins

before an unscheduled eclipse

and stumbled blindly in the dark

our confusion fuelled by hard liquor

and assorted oriental confections

I tried for the great indoors

but my inside was out

as my doors had been confiscated

during the last epic iconoclast

doors are bourgeois affectations

and privacy has been banished

here in the electric society

we are mere avatars for the combine

we do our shit and eat our bread

then watch the highlights on TV

that’s where we’re at now

nothing is real unless it’s been on TV

the tube has seared our minds

so we turn to moonshine and jimson weed

to enhance our perverse new benedictions

consequently many have been struck down

with the dread psycho reflux

but no-one cares for the stricken

no-one feeds their beasts or tills their soil

while they are lost to the great no no

for a man must make his own meat

to earn his fraction from the combine

.

4 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. It's not all sunshine and roses in this neo-liberal dystopia Martin

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  2. I like this poem because it's Acidic, Exquisite, and Surreal, but in the way that only the waking world can be surreal/dystopic.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you Mimi - your comment is very much appreciated.

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