your disregard for personal space
is only amplified by your slap chest attitude
i have at least two person space
between me and you

there is a link that consumes my unoccupied time
that can be spent photographing my hands or repairing the lightswitch
like an everyday standard homeowner
taking advantage of a spare thirty minutes
between washing the car and mowing the lawn.
i aspire to own an unsculptured character
that i can encourage to sit at piano five hours a day
and study schematics of a planetary system
the stem of an obstacle firmly rooted crooked from my seed
a bone china whale with her offspring
sitting next to a glass E.T. upon my housemate's TV set
i assume without caution that the outcome of my annual leave request & loan application will be unsuccessful
and do i have what it takes to cut out the now definitely dead monologues of an expired archbishop

spoon / . . . / click / drive / soiled / hair / waste / proof / face / sold / hang / dry / top / prey / hand / bleed / . . .

unlockables are consumables for the virtual community
all my useless trinkets are restricted to digital containment.
pacifism is curling into foetal position whilst being kicked.
this lumpy green stuff is your lifepartner now.
pictures of starving children adorn our washing powders
sponsoring the live clam eating contests on TV
still wriggling round palate in most sickening fashion
that you try to get veal back in
the pale shadow of your supposed former selves
the good becomes the commonplace
the history books forget or maybe leave out the overriding sense of wonder
now lost forever till the next big thing - a gimmick.
there comes a point where everyone has to draw a line
and smoking my as yet unborn children is where i draw mine.
i may have ignited and inhaled the odd bible in the past...
that doesn't make me a bad person,
this does:



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