The City #1

Lost in the pressure of the Simulacra,
the strange among strangers
faces
of new buildings
                seeming
threatening,

weird & eerie.

Yet all the rest – or so
                        it seems –
of the animals in the City
are so at ease,
               but to me
the noise,
the fumes & traffic, tragic
neglected people forced to sleep
on the streets – “Sorry,
don’t have any change” –
& the oppressive cranes
declaring the domination
                                of Capital;

the hive-mind
blind to the mantic fury of
                            the lost
history buried beneath the streets
consume me.

The City disgusts me.

Mother Mary

What do you all do with your days?

No, seriously
I want to know.

Me, I just seem
to let the minutes fade
& watch as the years run fierce
& true like mercury through
fingers destroyed in the process…

So here I am again
letting the rain
wash over my face.

What do you all do with your days?

Me, I wait
until the sunlight begins to fade
& then,
with alcohol, chemicals & weed
in place of rosary beads,
I begin my sinful prayer,
which goes like this:

"Hail Mary,
full of grace,
let me talk
& fuck the night away;

because I need
animal reprieve
from the shadows
no eyes can see."

& mostly she comes
(though I must admit that,
despite my best efforts,
sometimes she doesn't)

but

Mother Mary
never stays with me:

she is not mine to keep.

She belongs to no one,
& there are lonely demons
haunting her dreams as well.

So I smoke yet another cigarette,

alone,

outside

in the rain,

hoping that this time the
water will wash me clean.

There is a robot that lives in my brain*

Warped
        the shape & sound of thoughts
contort as they rise & fall

in the darkness.

I cannot catch them all.

So now pure instinct reigns supreme
& the Will relents
to every whim
of this self-destructing machine:

object
not a subject;
the It
& not the I.

Or is that just one more excuse?

When tomorrow becomes today,
perhaps it all will change

or stay the same.

*No Future Part 111 – Titus Andronicus

The Madness of Crowds

The talk,
        the talk goes on forever;

unfocused, the tumult of noises sounds
like the symptom of a fever.

I pick out one voice after another,
disappointed as each
seems to me to be a foreign language
I cannot speak.

It’s the silent ones I can understand,
shrouded in loneliness or pensive thoughts
        or maybe just nothing at all.

Are they, like me,
        bewildered
                as to how the past
can blend
from Spring into Winter
so swiftly?

As the noise, the
        noise goes on forever…

All of this is temporary*

The City swells with life
& you,
                        insignificant,
stare at the people & the buildings
& the mundane purpose.
Overwhelmed by
the tide, so an anchor is made:

One must stay busy.

Smoke dances the in rain
                        framed
by the sickly-white, luminescent light
of the night.

A walk, awake
between night & day, surrounded
by the City, &
always the same shapes:

they’re trying to say something,
these buildings, something
more than their designer or
creators ever intended

I don’t know what it is
                        any more than they do.

So find nearest breath of green
& living things;

to tilt your head back,
lay down upon the the grass,
& stare at the immense & ancient darkness of

                        the sky…

*“Emnacipatory politics must always destroy the appearance of a ‘natural order’, must reveal what is presented as necessay and inevitable to be a mere contigency, just as it must make what was previpusly deemed impossible seem attainable”– Mark Fisher