Brace to expand the only magic space
left to us, a place of folk that exists beyond
money. I love money! If only
I had some, or the other thing they all
want, called exposure, or big ears.
Disruptive in itself, the voice amongst
ads, pride in my artform, graffiti all
over the banal- nice, I like it. But
also, why does that vast nation get to
finger our last starry trench with a yup,
filmed on metro sets of faux-reality?
Imagine yourself surrounded
by cameras, your words tripping out to
potential emptor, shoehorned hard in
to fit the brief. The future etc! Saving.
I would melt with the absurdity of it,
my self droning on about shares or family
when I have neither, not quite the way they
call it. Grubby poets with their terrible
clothes and outsider faces, spun
to gold in terse intermission. Lol
at the Night’s Watch, volunteering
to keep the tiny slice of light alive. We
never did it to make ends, but for love-
to transform right and organise.
For we exist elsewhere, always. We do,
time bends. I am useless in the mainstream.
Here are some words that fit ok. Spokey-
Dokeys on your wheel, for recall. Sorry
I cannot sell them. They are already yours.