reclaim power - for the 1st heat of perth poetry slam...
Police charge pepper spray mass arrest/a public burlesque turnin’ to baton breakfast/with spectacles gazing at a spectacle farce/mark up the market no matter the cost/a cop kettle black bloc anarchy lust/a lossy format formin' structures lost/on your back asking whether the weather has passed/reciting one rendition of enough is enough/while militants and miscreants struggle against/capital’s resentment of half moon and crest/to survive we stumble in our humble jest/beat words like flies off our heavy chests/but the sun that burns hot never ever sets/and there’s always a gun left to caress/so all the kids tick apathy or hedonist/and the right write the history of what is left/
of a lonely fist in the crowd/a hacktivist over speaker loud/a rhyme twist soda pop asking how/a human less culture can make us proud/a sycophantic kiss to the well-endowed/and why this bless be the bliss of a mother's shroud/a test that was missed and forgotten 'til now/is whispering to concrete when the state allows/
but hey - everybody’s got a job to do/we’re all cops, judges and CEO’s/listen to pop, rock and a bit of soul/drink beer, vodka and do as we're told/stop and search on a bitumen road/here in this new lost city full of the old/customs and racists ten fold/border police genocide to prison cell/cashed up jacked up on mortgage 'til cold/turkey or snapper to escape this hell/
so we sleep in and imagine closeness to flesh/drawn back covers to possibility limitless/humanity abstract cums closer with sex/or spirit in streets and subversive protest/and with each breath we exhale to resist/inhale whispers of freedom with a kiss/and know that we are here - together in this
of a lonely fist in the crowd/a hacktivist over speaker loud/a rhyme twist soda pop asking how/a human less culture can make us proud/a sycophantic kiss to the well-endowed/and why this bless be the bliss of a mother's shroud/a test that was missed and forgotten 'til now/is whispering to concrete when the state allows/
but hey - everybody’s got a job to do/we’re all cops, judges and CEO’s/listen to pop, rock and a bit of soul/drink beer, vodka and do as we're told/stop and search on a bitumen road/here in this new lost city full of the old/customs and racists ten fold/border police genocide to prison cell/cashed up jacked up on mortgage 'til cold/turkey or snapper to escape this hell/
so we sleep in and imagine closeness to flesh/drawn back covers to possibility limitless/humanity abstract cums closer with sex/or spirit in streets and subversive protest/and with each breath we exhale to resist/inhale whispers of freedom with a kiss/and know that we are here - together in this
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