Returning to a Future

June 08, 2018

“I been down so long, bottom looks like up”

Change, rearrange, sort out our minds

Brew a fad; make it, manufacture chapter, verse,

Then give it nurse

Those averse at first, shall be won and sobered, brought around:

An insistent supervision jams them custard-pies

(It’s a staple feed, a rudimentary dish

A message massage, well-greased subliminal beast)

Coaxed on falsetto smooth enjoining sound

Calling off neatly reasoned reasons, trussed and bound,

By academic tinkers

Their claims patched out, draw compensatory honours

Languished unhonoured heretofore, since late-relaundered -

Autocued blether seniors uninventive hard correctives -

Indignancy horsewhips; makeovers lather, contort their figures,

Ratcheting notch on notch to exhume amends. Emetic thinkers

Mind-minders, mind-meddlers, rangers who pursue

The installation genders

Patch, ply, be clever, evoke and yoke, provoke, endeavour

Their cool consensus trims its coat as righteousness infracted

Mainline corsairs, rare somebodies, the psycho re-enactors

Waves upon waves, like sleep, exhaustion’s epidural,

Through half-delusion cede sense-borders, sunken into

Unconsciousness, resigning compass, wellbeing combs through haze;

This the attempted murder of the liberal house of thought

Send the redactors, ardour-glad to cross the tees

Marshalling means; a clash; the population bleeds

Account no account; and make go-about, jejune convention;

Recruit attention

This then the dogma absolute, buzz-worded science

Mind menders render eventual wonder transformations

Engineers steep in mimsy trance aphasic limbs

Walking them backwards into seas, swarming to devolution;

The finials of being pancake, beating gongs off-topic

Cramped in their iron vices, divas scrawl in reams

Armchair commandos, exposit bravely mold the tide

De rigueur shamans declaiming in refrains appassionata

Insistent call the tunes, and shout their harmonies

Aberration crazes paradigms as thought corrodes

All things distil to nothings without trace

Are atomised, turned paste, the tab wiped clean for grabs

Blancmange the social nexus, centrifuge it bolognaise

More? Further? Where to go? What common factor?

Why when at-bottom bid-up stakes and bust profusely?

A yester renaissance sinks, its day become its wake:

One written to come again come make a sign of grace