Imagining Another You

Imagine one another.
Imagine the other.

Imagine -
To be the other of you.
How is your other you?

And,
How are you too?

Have faith in this accident of fate game;
Role play your prevailing freewill 
with a roll of the loaded dice.

Mirrors -
To seem mirrors -
A myriad of mirrors face-down your wall,
Unfolding and folding their gazing.
See how they reflect and refract the chrysalis -
The shadow play.

Do your anthems different remain the same?
So, does your birth right?
Do you empathise with,
Or even recognise the re-mirrored frame?
And the game, 
That's anything but a game.
Facing opposite the familiar rules,
Does your difference seem in play?

Imagine, imagine,
Wishing to understand your other,
And imagine uncovering the path
you might together discover -
Almost like there is no other.

Press The Button

As the blizzards of London continue,
To hold us to ransom with two-millimetre snow:
Arctic conditions in the warmer world,
'Tis verily updated Doctor Zhivago..

I accidentally press the "delete Facebook from the world" button,
And one-seventh of ecosystem disappeared,
All dissolved into a soluble realm, 
An aspirinless ether.

I couldn't locate the "I was only kidding, sorry. I didn't mean it" button, 
Thus unable to reset two billion souls into existence again.

One-seventh of the world's women and men,
And their press-ganged pets,
All who had up to, but no more than, five-thousand friends.

Facebook won't allow you five-thousand-and-one friends,
Because no-one needs five-thousand-and-one friends.
Even the most popular pets don't need five-thousand-and-one friends,
Unless they're celebrities,
Or their owners are celebrities.
Some celebrity pets even have celebrity owners,
It's an astonishingly small world,
For celebrity pets,
And celebrity owners. 

Sometimes pressing buttons isn't fun -
My hypnopompic number one.

Not Like Dolphins

Moving on from heartbreak, 
Means "letting go..", 
And "moving on..". 

Seize the day; 
Don't look back; 
Earth still has plenty of fish, 
In the sea. 

So move on, 
Because we still have fishes - plenty of them, 
And they're in the sea. 

So watch a film, 
Sob to the songs, 
Eat some more chocolate, and, 
Learn to breathe underwater. 
Get out, 
Cultivate an interest: 
Swim like a shark.
Grow and abdominise some gills. 

I wonder though, 
When a dolphin is heartbroken, 
Do other dolphins gather round, circling, consoling: 
"Let it go, 
There are plenty of humans on the land... 
You just need a good night out." 
I doubt it: 
Dolphins, warm-blooded,
possess highly intuituitive, sensitive empathic abilities. 
Imagine a moping dolphin being cajolled to get pissed to get laid after a curry, 
Or to cheer up because there are plenty of cold fish on the land.. 

No, dolphins would float beside you, gliding lowly above the coral; 
They would weep the quiet with you; 
They would listen; 
They would communicate:
They would understand. 

Would dolphins, though, understand simply letting go, knowing, 
That that thing you once had: 
That special someone, who, once upon a time 
unlocked the moonlight behind your eyes, 
Who guided you to the enchanted and illuminated enchanted forest, 
Really didn't amount to that much? 
See, it was all just an illusion. 
So you should feel okay then. 
You have moved on - again. 
You're as shiny as tin foil glittering translucent beneath the waves. 

And your friends apparently never liked them that much anyway, 
They offer by way of support. 

The heartbreak, 
Plays on. 
Memories, and all their meaning,
You have just let go of, like that - 

Because it's time. 
Seriously, it's about time now, 
You moved on. 
You owe it to yourself don't you?. 

Downsize your depth out here in the sea, 
And if you don't boil down your memories, 
You are only indulging in sentimentality, 
And nostalgia. 

Thus the unalloyed truth pierces the body-polished armour not even a scratch. 
And the treaded water booms to the galley-slave drum. 

A Bloke Of Letters

When I was a schoolboy,
My English teacher instructed:
One thought, one sentence.

But now I'm a bloke,
I'm a bloke.

Drifting In The Drifting Sands Of So

Then the murder itself became itself. 

This was the murder of civilians: 

The villains. 

"But murder?" they bristled, "No. Well, no..", 

So..

So the murder became the killing. 

The killing then became itself. 

Then killing itself became collateral damage. 

And collateral damage became itself collaterally morphed: 

Sandpaper to candyfloss: 

Enter unintended consequences. 

Unintended consequences. 
Unintended Consequences Delta Force.

Unintended consequences is still churning out  its buttery flow, 

But soon the eraser's lingua franca shall again rub out its road; 

Neverland's built-in obsolescence-coda the interposing code. 

For these apparatchiks wing such strange jams in flues of dead life, 

Constantly retuning the lexicon
in the key changes of the drowning light, 

Cast in the colours of the waterboarders' eyes.

This proto-linguistic mash-up, 

Informs the infotainment joker's full-spectrum arcana, 

Redefining and tightening; 

As ideological as Stalinist fag-ends in overdrive. 

Disarming with the Subutteo of words, 

Pumped out like oil. 

Please view the nascent necropolis through magnolia smoke 

and bending kaleidoscopic timelines. 

And, 

Although far-removed in look and sound, 

This globalist hipper hate-rainbow, 

Phase-shifts playfully the ever-unfurling cacophony, 

And deconstructs any moral dilemma fads 

through the fade of the flow.

Lines drawn then renamed: 

Progression; 

Buttressing and counterblasting; 

A conceptual shoe-in for these teratoid playlists. 

Mixtape for the scorching; 

An envelope to elide: 

The language isn't the sideshow - it's the ride, 

It's the ride. 

Painting pictures differently, 

All cloaking-zeitgeist-wordsmith brinkmanship. 

Deep-sixing: 

Pink-slipping the severed deadwood adrift 

to anodyne swamp slideshow jazz-riffs. 

Blastwall wordscapes camouflage the poison ivy, 

Now broadcasting the lounge-sound of the lizards' dream-future: 

Dancers sparkle under supernormal mistle, 

Washing away the latest nano-armageddon to the-so-last-year, 

Drifting in the drifting sands of so, 
The powdery blue sheer..