harness the power of the pyramid
in the job interview or the queue
for the soup kitchen.
harness the power of the pyramid
in the job interview or the queue for the soup kitchen.
i always felt slightly sick and nervous
every time i made an aspirational purchase.
you know,
there's nothing funny about an emperor or slaves.
its like singing about how fast your hair is thinning
or writing about the lines on your face.
you said this is surreal.
i said this is as real as it gets.
caffeine, bloated cadavers,
good people under the sledgehammer.
tilt your head and read my welcome mat, mate.
it says there's nothing funny about an emperor or his slaves.
i saw one thousand birthdays, bored.
awaiting delivery of a godless stick from luxor.
the whole experience left me very cross.
meet your new boss - king tutankahmun.
dines exclusively on millionaire's shortbread,
downs a pint of a**es milk each night before bed.
he paid for the pavements and now he owns the streets.
this is known as thinking outside the box - delivering beyond the brief.
he never struggles to squeeze in his five a day..
she shuffles on a cane into subterranean spaces,
unto her cache of cattle with sellotape faces.
a remorseful chorus goes up,
'is this all we have to show for it'.
as though aimed at a film that
spits out his credits mid-sentence.
with sticky dreams
of gristle wet grit and brits abroad,
we kick up the dust in place de la concorde.
i pay them the blindest bit of notice,
its more than they deserve,
and set about erasing any traces
of triangles from my work.
we prayed you cease to trade in vagueries
and make your allegiances achingly clear.
still, you leave it in the hands of the overlords of chance.
book bins gutted,
insides scooped out like splintered giblets.
restuffed with
terminus, blinds, blue chairs that recline.
a serpentine of working men
all queue to see the boy who sleeps with one eye open.
i crack another can for
pubs, schools and post offices
as they disappear down the j**el-encrusted orifices.
blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah.