In Captivity

What is it we want? What lack we, to make our dreams?

Dishonest desire is led astray by artificial need.

Destructive vires grow day on day and speed with famished feed

 

That habit to consume, a mainline drug deal, liberal to

Hang-up, hang-out to dry, us on the lie’s production line

As we follow the furrow feverishly to borrow, overbuy.

 

‘Don’t like trucks much? then don’t buy stuff!” hauls out a hollow

And new, smug, self-preferring cuss; imping at narrow

Conceits of people caught by commerce, cornered, traded fellows

 

Held by their eyes, induced by stylish shelf-seductions

Are captives on candy carousels, servant to plastics tales

Pandoras box cornucopias, profuse on their retables

 

Retail produce Nirvana, bypasses round that jolt manyana

Sunshades and seaside, end of the pier tryst dioramas

Landslides forcing freeloaders to an end of the line destruction

 

A fire-sale going global burns before a lacuna bombs

Before enterprise concentres, renders all of us just bums

The heavy caesura fallen as the late Nightwatchman gongs

 

With all headiness headlong swimming into the social binge

The junkshop life-swap soirees bring to everyone such a glow

So heads bleat in their bubbles, and welcome in the next furbelow

 

Deliberate doublethink neutered minds deny time’s harvest tide

Prefer an exclusive private haven, protective from outside

Which insistent with all violence does suffer to apply

 

So myopically non-topical grandmama of spoilers, earth;

Concern for, whether there’s, a future for its tarnished jewel

Rough-handled by the merchant mobs of calloused hamfist hands

 

Dig a grave for the earth, ah, had it not given berth to a grammar

For the arrogant indignities its marauders pronounce on:

Only with holy God the rod that might bring back control

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