Transparency reveals the age - the time’s de rigueur:

No place to hide:

A modulated acetate-slide of a world, wisp-plastic film

Flat flimsy see-through wafer-thin shellac fiche

Frames balloons

Approaching overblowing; at the party burst

So ends in tears

Example is: our comfortable, and musical, convenience

Walking the malls, consisting as of sun-lounger

Provided for my mind; recliner so much subtle

My circulation soothes, as I peruse, and cruise, the malls

As music might be in a picture house, or gin palace,

Absorbed absorbing entrance into other worlds

Narcotically narcissically: breaking rules I play;

Phantasmagoric emblems take your breath away

A spot explicit; a lot erotic; neighbour’s wife,

Etcetera.

Bends a cc camera, finds me hip-hop dancing,

In high bouree I make my way, and no-one’s glancing,

How centrefold I look; too busy promenading

Themselves like see-through looking-glass ragdolls go-go romancing

To a polonaise; dim fancies play a round suggestively

Clear as a bell, overt traductions sordid shove obscenity

Seductions nurse my ear, discoursing yearn to me

Of lections on demotic unions unashamedly;

Invigorating, instigating; serenade my genes

Adulterous refrains in great enormous gutsy blasts:

Unstrap my muzzle, clear the floor; I lead the measure

Here hear, first-person stereo, and heroic-style, this art

Of venery,

Sung-out, mouth-touted, altogether one

Stout celebration of the extra mile of gush;

A dose of sedative as dress-rehearsal glee!

I am spaced-out in clouds, and universally!

Gilt see-through knickers hang around-about weak knees

As cherry-pickers separating-out the fees

Commend content-creators of A-rated candid contours

Unvarnished plain to any eye that wanders

Transparent is the watchword of your democratic ethos

Its touchstone is this demagogic ribaldry;

So hungry pours the cash in; pawings something rashly

Dash open homes and inundate their theatre

Upon unnumbered and unready children

Shows subjugate by rhythms, pictures, of the midden

Éclat! Here are the dancing girls and supple-hurdied men;

Art’s nothing left to show but surfeit's brainerds,

Invest with indigestion, no suggestion in reserve

Art’s troupe alleviates itself in diuretic verbs

Pulp-purgatives pervasive revenue south-eastern urbs

And just so far, no more, heydays might push the greasy package

(Transparently of course) - who perspicacious manage;

Health has to make its turn, begin to sound around,

With either fear or hope:

Incentivising – what a word! – your monied Panoplies

Pecuniary, on their éclairé next steps:

And what and where, might we imagine coming next?!

A next ‘Degeneration’ taking guide from semaphores,

Signs gone before them signalling the times unfastening,

What trade, upgrade, what new superlative? Oh, do not ask!

A smallest thing so loosens an electron further

The social fabric threadbare hanging by a drawing pin:

So auction-off our hearts perhaps, and tread the mindless ginn!?

Receipts for bill of fare - are a chilli marinade

Filled full of taste; a dish of bitter herb

Reduced stuffs sell-by-dated, gyres' erotic machinations

Bring abject jollities to a desolate pass

Curdle-turned sex, clear-as-a-bell, in lucent lyrics,

Lift off the shift, expose to all the spirit’s mystery

In rudely common husbandries met raw by passers-by

A brief remark then next they set their purpled eye

On something other and ensuing; say, a house of mirrors

Where nearly-naked divas rumba-out The Big Society

And since I'd joke:

A valance over tills maybe, embarrassed by their takings

By monies cached, accumulation’s squirrel nutkins,

(Unexpectedly say ye)

Or tresses tied-back soberly on every male’s tattooings;

And wear a hat at Debenhams on Sundays

Refraining from withdrawals on sacrosanct Bank Holiday Mondays?

This all is fitly risible fine fare:

Slip-thin non-consonance eftsoons available

Shall form our futures in the given mould

Futures pursuant, or pursued by, footloose regnant dreams

Deliberately dissociated dished delusions,

Disbursed by life’s elect’s as life’s select illusions:

Whose trove naïve aspirers pick a dream, no place to go,

We have destroyed our dreams

Expending streams of them by way of deil-may-care;

Self-love-affair maraudings laundering the peopled sofas

Enthusing puffed up sex and premier soccer:

‘Sit down, and view the sport!’

Touch-fire their exclamations charm a cheap-jocose rapport

And we the people evermore their siphon, juice-resort