Turn your back on the city
There's a greyness in it
Too many queues going nowhere
No semblance of freedom
Pulling away from it
Search for inner haven
The world is a billboard hologram
How do see it today
Unglue yourself from the visage
That alone is permission to live
No longer orbit the figment
Turn your back on th city
The feeling desire to feel good
Want to want fun
to feel a pool of vibration
To make life make sense
How does one put that into action
Life with its slumps
is it possible to bulldoze them
With the promise of weekend thrills
The long slog
where are the pearls
What is the point
when the long day is so wrapped up in expectation
How does it feel to step into a pool of vibration?
To hover over the slumps
To surpass the gloom
Look toward some place the sun should be
The hidden anger in him
His jaw clenches
Many moments spent in silence brooding
While his capitalist superiors narrate his life
His own Political pov pushed out
Feels the rush of outrage
Teeth grind a inside an unstable sarcastic grin
He sweats and struggles to push the anger down
He leans in like lenin with euphoric discourse
Then gulags his feelings like stalin
Which fuels guevara like rants
Apathises other's opinions like zedong
Storing the active rage in each organ
until it comes forth in vigor
Through socialist hubris and misplaced seething wrath
The unresolved pain continues its failed economy
The contract gets signed
And on a reciept butt the number changes every month
A void in a number on a doument taking up your life
Filling up every month
With every installment
The burden on a paycheck
Slowly the tiny flow of money fills it
Over months over years
The trickle strangles the budget
The pressure of it bears a weight
The luxuries you may only view
But never tangibly experience
Underpaid observers of advertising
The billionaires preach on universal income
As you struggle at the end of each month
Floating with a head above the water
Most of the body inside the water
Skin absorbs sunlight and chlorine
Bathers slowly dip into the water
Several hours ago it was still filling up
The water pouring in from a simple hose
Filling up the cavity that has become the focal point of all leisure
The buttery vanila smell of suncream overwhelms the air
The water's membrane shifts to and fro as more bathers enter
Their cosmetics coming off into the water creating greasy swirls
Sunglasses still mounted above the oohs and aahs of the cold water on warm skin
The formulaic first stroke of the arms as if to swim before retiring to the pool side
Focusing on overtaking the next bike ahead
crashing seems imminent
The focus of the rider means
we will probably have to cheat
So I focus on leaving the main track to overtake her
Peddling like a maniac
Dodging pine stumps
some rotten, some stronger than boulders
I catch up to her
She is moving quickly under the pines
I overtake her and out pedals hit against each other
almost toppling both of us
A shiver of addrenaline sends me forward
At the end of the race there is no prize
I shot ahead for nothing
bragging rights are empty
These were left on the course
Digging treasure for dreamers
they line up in queues
To get a piece of something
they saw someone else win
Big racks holding axes and shovels
they might as well be holding humans
For aren't we tools the lot of us
the more we do something the more we become that thing
Finally we retire being used less and less
These tools were left on the course
for cutting down trees
Digging holes
or just for someone's collection
Some of their blades still sharp
Easy to use
effective
others just blunt
but look powerful
And what are you?
Are you the shifter or the cutter?
Do you move things or cut them for your purpose?
Because there's no going back
