Mememememememenow
Quelle: Spotify
Last time I checked we had free speech.
Right then, shut your face: I'm speaking.
My problem's urgent, yours can wait.
Quit your whinging. I've got complaints.
I'll saw that barrista in half
with the edge of my donor card.
(Soy! Soy! It's three letters!)
We layered the acetate printouts of our DNA.
Vetted the patterns and popped champagne
and start Googling the baby names.
A green field, a clean white tent.
Now that's what I call entertainment.
Push red for the autopsy
and I'm choking back my jealousy
cos why can't I be famous?
[What exactly is going on when two people copulate? When a hand embraces a breast, when fingers explore clefts (which are obviously geometric structures which powerfully cue innate responses laid down in the central nervous system a hundred thousand years ago)?]
Shared baths then spontaneous sex.
Foucault and Baudrillard shelved next.
Swap out the haiku sent by text
for guest rooms with flat pack pull out beds.
Quantising cum shots in our heads.
Yawning at chrome vibrating eggs.
Leave toenail clippings where they fall.
Walk by the junk mail in the hall.
Groan at the sunshine, up and out,
making each carcinoma count.
Slow waltz around supermarkets
with hooves in shoes clenched up like fists.
So boil it off, you'll see what's left:
bad luck, tough shit, goodnight, God bless.
Now all you've leased reverts to us.
Your children's hair will turn to rust.
All your snow-driven birds of love:
besemened pigeons playing dove.
One day I'll be turfed out of my grave
to join dust clouds floating in space.
Treblinka and the Vatican:
their motes sweet-waltzing, holding hands.
And those black jokes will all make sense
hoovering us up in increments.
Bye bye.
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