‘That’ Estate

“I am somehow less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops.”
— Stephen Jay Gould

 

That Social activist 

(The one that lives in Hampstead)

The echoes of the chattering classes in gentrified neighbourhoods

Sprawls away

Sink Housing and Working-class Youth

Seduced by Heroin

Unremittingly bleak paired with the unsophisticatedly nihilistic  

Shooting up over the limescaled kitchen sink

The disparity between the felt and the observed

Grows glaringly and unsettlingly obvious 

 

And the thrill of the chase

And the thrill of the chase

 

And the Sociopaths

Confronting the crack house on the corner

30 seconds away from the Library

Where the cokeheads congregate 

Evidently vacant 

Intestines destroyed

Cancer works slowly

And dealing adds a modicum of order 

To purposelessness 

With anabolic steroids

Grows the gross economic inequality

I want out.

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Ecstatic Disorientation (Ad Infinitum)

This one contains near saturation of sincerely felt cliches and platitudes.  I thought Bright Eyes’s ‘First Day of My Life’ was an apt accompaniment.

Ecstatic disorientation 

Eyes azure blue

Skies azure blue on the 11:03 to you

The first Friday

Coy glances

Heart dances.

 

 

Diaphanous white dress

(with flowers)

A guide to a London address

to circumvent distress

I confess-

A curling desire to kiss

And caress

Now 

I profess

To cease the rhymes of -ess

This is somewhat terrible so far 

(I guess you could guess?)

I’m doing my best.

 

 

Softly surrender

to a Life present and tender

The inability to live in the moment is crippling

Succinctly sliced snips of my own silence are delivered

Accompanied by smiles

(Why didn’t I say anything?)

Hand on train window

(Why couldn’t I say anything?)

I love you.

 

 

Chasms that keep us apart

Chasms away

Behind train windows and instant messaging windows

Intangible

Unreal.

Unsure if I’m selfish

For I want one thing

And it’s You.

And Time Ad Infinitum.

 

 

I could only think of the end-

The sadness- 

From the very beginning-

Brevity clamps my smile.

 

 

(an unpoetic 209 miles away)

Run away from this estate-

This unreal prison of melancholy-

Fiscal and physical decay-

To light ad infinitum-

No delay-

To something marginally-

If not- 

Something-

Infinitely-

Transcendentally-

Real.

You.

The London Verses No.5

 Quickly written today… hugely flawed etc. I’m not fishing for compliments, honest. Just enjoy.

   

The M25

A 20-mile grey necklace-

or noose-

Asphyxiating-

Enclosing the metropolis 

A quiet belt that can’t be cut loose?

   

Blandly anonymous suburbs scream

(Consuming as a vacuum for dreams) 

Stanmore on a Sunday-

Middle-class mercs-

And the bleak coda of Collingwood

or forgotten Finchley 

   

Hard shoulders- 

And cold shoulders-

Cadaver washed upon the South Bank

Kisses of thanks-

And hugs of grace

Draconian measures

Pepper spray-

and mace-

Empty office space –

on the Euston Road

and one Bedroom abodes –

in Wapping.