This poem has appeared in Granville.
sycophantic
in a societal mode
of transportation
(with a minuscule)
stuck inbetween
a socio/strike pathic
no, even psycho
variation
on a theme
the pen always
gives out
at inopportune
doubleminusgood
where would you be,
my love,
without the steep scale
of ratings,
without the star system
levitating above
claustrophobically low
concrete gardens,
giving the ground
a close shave
with my propellers
- how any more typical
could..
- how much more liquid..
more innocent?
(there is an observable limit,
after all)
above the striped
strikes of
fate, and below
the voluminous beats
of the clockmaker's
heart
above the
arrogantly assured
looks,
beyond
the incredulity
of recursion
meeting the seven o'clock
from tomorrow,
in an ink stain
on your desk
where your
most favourite
are dusty tomes
and sexless,
quite literally
now
now's your
cue to smile,
boy
smile