Shoreditch Cod + Totemic ignorance = milksops, brigands, et alia

A couple of dismal or abysmal poems for you reader, depending on mood. These were written a couple of months back, and I offer these whilst I continue reading up for my course and applying for part-time jobs. I’m currently cultivating a thing about maps at the moment, which I hope to lay fully-sized for you by the end of this week (See my poetic gift for metaphor and mimesis, lovely eh?). I’m planning to put out three collections soon (in the next 2 years that is), mostly under daft pseudonyms. Maybe film some. Look out for Bob Cross…

Shoreditch Chicken & Cod.

You see her but you don’t beseech,
Lecterns are lectured; besides,
Each to each, and
Let fools learn and lovers recover unlovely ways.
Hear me
Muse Nothing: we’re empty,
Innocent like that
As essentially pure as these polystyrene boxes
And the cash you cannot even count in your oil-etched paw

So beseech her to be truthful old man,
There’s little else beside.
Claim, bold friend, there’s little else outside,
Be yourself one day, a deceit that may
Satisfy the rest. Eh,
We never stay reliable. Ask TV mother.
Whose? Choose. And don’t be stingy on the chips.


Trickery to end, spent ugly and unloveable friend.

His face was once an enchanting sight.
Need I say? Not any more.
It threatened bewitchment to a dangerous side
The sort that squats and pisses flagrantly
Against the walls of railway stations
I offer this:
These hands are safe now these eyes are glazed,
And I see sweetheart for what she is, her core
Truly nothing more than guilty bliss, hands tussle
Whilst pelvises flex, clumsy manoeuvres indict sexuality,
Or praise it, depends on your sensitivity – see?
I make no sense, damn pills and nothingness.
Clutch at a gospel of Luke, Karl, Alan or Piers.

“God bless other souls, still
The devil take me down”
A confessor in 2nd century souls,
My lover taught me grace.
She birthed me to the cotton age
I struggle and I learn nothing.
Fortunately I have a challenging role in Shoreditch Cod and Chips where I have learnt organisational and team-working skills as well as administistarve abilities and managaging a tight budget and aso at same time teamwortk skills with my cousin mo who tells me what to do and i like that – I NEED STRUCTURE ERGO I WAKE AT 7, LISTEN TO POP MUSIC, EAT WHEAT, PERSPIRE FOR 120 YEARS AND PERISH.

My crimes are scarcely worth report.

TOTEM

The life is good they say
Grounded by expensive clothes
And debt obligations
Says R. Willis:
“I am no ordinary spectre –
Look around – each pore speaks,
Each atom, a prophet of cosmic agency“

Says the totem of complicity:
Barbarity through dusky
Displayed indeference.
The 20th century mantra,

The horde has sacked the town
Filled it somehow
With their gaudy poundshops
Pinched expressions
“It’s just a lark –
Besides, I lack stimulus”

The following edition begs consumption
The old elite has run out of milk
Ex-marxist English lecturer
Beseeches indifferent schoolboys
To choose their own fate
Which simply means
In the world of indifferent schoolboys
Creating a new persona in
Sitdown addictive online
Schizoid role-playing games
Or denuding said ex-marxist teacher

If world requires indifference
As latest edition purports
Then I have a kind of fuel today
In the world of debt obligations
This is the second childhood.
As happy and grateful as all that
Does not suggest.

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