Saturday, 9 July 2011

* =


A time will come,
When we can no longer abide ourselves

passing air,
From,
You know,
Down there.

And when no-one is looking,
We will explode ourselves violently timid -
Like a spatula smearing -

Above the dark side of the moon,
(But far away from the Greys' secret observation towers).*

Yet meanwhile,
We shall not pay a second glance,
When kids or grannies,
Fiddle themselves to blindness at the bus stop:
It will just be:

A thing that happens.

And like any workaday entry-point phenomenon,

New and strange target-markets shall be deformed,
That advertisers and marketing people,
Will endevour to consumate.

* = asterisk