what was said
from twelve to six foot, fit recovery/dull health wilt with wage slavery/he’s clutching phantom pain groin poverty/to bricks built debt confined tenancy/and on rotting couch scribble verse incessantly/derailed debunked and overwhelmingly fucked/but not laid screwed jumped or even sucked/ha it’s funny how on the best of days the worst of days seem faint/through the nightmare glow spectacle florescent/and convalesce cum recital of Kant/but dream of monsters inside these giants/thousands seeking refuge in A B C or D block/smuggled LSD stop to bounce like pinging pong back and forth/singing a junkie psalm of denial of course/with hope for landfill or the nurse’s cunt/you can’t say that and she’s not the sort/a carpet fetish perhaps or worse/
But I-lodge the mod-f, or was that why/we look at the wall rather than face/demons disguised to manifest a race/against counting sheep in a choice of workplace/100 points to point the identity of lines traced/back to economy not absurd conspiracy/but he’s always drinking thinking whispering to friends/of occult and mechanisms of control/or was that control of mechanisms bodily functions and delusions to rhythm without soul/but sold anxiety to PC fingers tapping relentlessly/techno tracks and DMT/make for mismatched thought patterns serial packs of scratched records and CDs/
and even with a dilated people and jumbled rhyme/we see that beyond writing lines to form poetry/name drops to desperate hypocrisy/we’re all suffocating in this goddamn city/bastion of capitalism that it be/and shit we’re all living in San Quentin/a colonial mining prison/cashed up bogans and patriotic vermin/noongar youth beaten til not just black/refugees unwelcome and workers sacked/and yet convinced of the politics of power to the infinite by etc times etc times etc
but what of this has not already been said/to witness thirty people drunk and well fed/change the room in which they sit/sipping beer, thinking of a post-teen angst fad/of that acquaintance or the comfort of the seats/preparing pretense to consummate the distance so discreet/why waste the breath/of only two times sixty/a moment or less to whisper and repeat/what hasn’t been said
as we sit so quietly and dead
But I-lodge the mod-f, or was that why/we look at the wall rather than face/demons disguised to manifest a race/against counting sheep in a choice of workplace/100 points to point the identity of lines traced/back to economy not absurd conspiracy/but he’s always drinking thinking whispering to friends/of occult and mechanisms of control/or was that control of mechanisms bodily functions and delusions to rhythm without soul/but sold anxiety to PC fingers tapping relentlessly/techno tracks and DMT/make for mismatched thought patterns serial packs of scratched records and CDs/
and even with a dilated people and jumbled rhyme/we see that beyond writing lines to form poetry/name drops to desperate hypocrisy/we’re all suffocating in this goddamn city/bastion of capitalism that it be/and shit we’re all living in San Quentin/a colonial mining prison/cashed up bogans and patriotic vermin/noongar youth beaten til not just black/refugees unwelcome and workers sacked/and yet convinced of the politics of power to the infinite by etc times etc times etc
but what of this has not already been said/to witness thirty people drunk and well fed/change the room in which they sit/sipping beer, thinking of a post-teen angst fad/of that acquaintance or the comfort of the seats/preparing pretense to consummate the distance so discreet/why waste the breath/of only two times sixty/a moment or less to whisper and repeat/what hasn’t been said
as we sit so quietly and dead
posted by Ray G at 5:13 PM
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