Is Anthropology anything more than mere, sterile euphemism for a wider iceberg of never ending fetishism and fascination for everything around us? Well, probably. I choose to disagree (quelle surprise).
The London Verses No. 2
The Beefeaters’ late
And someone’s preaching hate
On Speaker’s Corner
As the Hearse pull away
As the armchair yellows and frays
Parking tickets and Private Police
(Though not alone)
Dystopia & Co.
Try as we might to righteously resist
An inexorable failure to cease and desist
Laughter in the face of fear
Oh, another adapted Lear
Disappears without a tear.
On the Northern Line
A desire for something more
Something you wish you told her?
Do City cocks sleep alone?
As Swarovski pendulums rock
(Forgotten failures in Enfield Lock)
In peppermint penthouses of present
The distant cacophony of cafes and bars
Hexagonal headlights and shimmers of cars
And drones of manufactured ‘decay’
And of police sirens far away…
Move further away.