Poetry

By | 13 May 2024

Picked up the gist
of lock-picking as I went along.
Easy as breaking
into a loaf of bread.

Made a good generalisation
of a poster boy:
brow furrowed, slightly parted lips,
aerodynamic.

Worst thing to grow
the distance within oneself.
Face shows up in a square
I am continually trying to unsee.

What happened to him,
the buoyant one,
the one who smuggled his ideals
across continents?

Elegy in late capitalism:
a productive wallow
or total bummer. All or nothing,
as if it were a choice.

Not so quietly dismantling
the world as we knew it.
Well versed in the art
of contradicting myself.

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