The music festival

We were talking about this
The music festival
I was laughing, sarcastically
At the recycling

Of tins and things collected in bins

I recalled a news report
A joke – in the least
How the trash is shipped off
To the far east

And the people I saw
Tightly crowded
Waving their arms to the music
Like people drowning

I live in a society

I live in a society
Easily led
Of people who wear windows
Like overcoats

I live in a society
Stuck in a layby
Waiting for the devil
To come in his tow truck

I live in a society
That lives in a broken dream

I live in a society
Of faces pressed against the window

I live in a society
That’s like a conveyor belt unattended

I live in a society
That is forgettable

This film of human destruction

This film of human destruction
These images of war

These leaders up on pedestals
These shadows that cover the floor

So far away in a nightmare
So far away in a grave

These people caught up in bloodshed
These people who want to be saved

A generation will by no means

A generation will drag its heels
To the finishing line
A generation that will see
The end of the system of things
Perhaps from the end
of the two world wars
until, by human folly
climate change kicks in like a mule

it feels like a generation has passed
living through the social changes
the trust in science and technology
to how the world has become
complicated and hard to fix
and connected by spring steel cables

I feel as though I’m standing
On the doorstep
Watching the world sail away
On one last big adventure
The war of paradise

You follow the path of youth

You follow the path of youth
That leads you to a brick wall
On the other side is the monolith of man
The monolith of mankind grown tall
Where buttercups grow thorns
And daises grow little white stingers
Where the lawnmowers trim the grass
And women cheer the soldiers

You follow the path of youth
Until rigour mortis sets in
When kisses become insurance claims
And universities prune your limbs
Look at you now – so mechanised
Look at you, so poltergeisted
Making removal men move your stuff
Into the forest of life

Lonely politicians

Lonely politicians sit like rabbits
As the cleaners push their mops and buckets down the hallowed halls
Where Tudor kings with huge bellies
write up the morning’s executions

Lonely politicians sit like rabbits
Eating newspapers and sending out their shadows
To sit at normal breakfasts
In prayerful neglect

Lonely politicians sit like rabbits
And talk all day – on railway trains
They catch up with themselves
At prize carrot competitions

Lonely politicians sit on chairs like rabbits
Inside ice cream vans
Where black snakes are gathering to ask for light
To radiate from the heads of crows

Lonely Politian’s, who sit like rabbits
Chewing manifestoes like cabbage
Talking like children locked in toilets
To gingerbread men in throne rooms

Lonely politicians who sit like rabbits in glue
Folding their faces into magic wallets
Releasing balloons over bonfires

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