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 May 29
Anais Vionet
Our needs are boundless -
our wounds sensitive -
better not to bare them
- lest we invite opinion,
debate and comparison,
or worse yet, sympathy (euuww).
Songs for this..
Musta Been A Ghost by Próxima Parada
Everything goes my way by Metronomy
If You’re Too shy (Let me know) - Edit by The 1975
The myriad of workers all shattered and broken
Complementary cityscapes remain inescapable
High tech offices, shimmering urban dystopia,
Eight hours spent well, dreams of eloping.

Twice daily gaze avoidance in a cold rolling tin
Public transport gaslight, nobodies talking
Level crossings stay shut without fair warning
Waiting at the lights while fending off wardens.

A twenty car pileup with zero casualties
Gridlock at rush hour, boredom eternally
Look out the sunroof towards the contrails
Dreams of escaping, a matter of urgency.

Overhead, the most beautiful of tapestries
Each one a trail to the temporarily free
The sun in this case, a dog for a flee
Migrate for a week and live on the beach.

The cycle goes on as you don't have the money
Yet venture capitalists adventure freely
All expenses paid, hands rub greedily
Shouting to the world 'I want you to pay me!'

Nothing pillaged nothing earned
Bear witness to the 'altruistic economy'
Climb onto haveness mezzanines
Stroll down avoidance alley.

Open your front door, the handle falls off
Take a smoke and climb up the chimney
Sit on the slate and draw the scenery
All glass houses need stone underneath.
Crick neck adventurer, a backpack of worries
Through the heat of day the rat-pack chortles on
Through errands and favours revenue wavers
Lunch time arrives, alone and hurried.
 Jun 2021
S Smoothie
The truth is out there...

No, its within.

Within 3 doors,

Truth is always obedient to its laws

A higher matter,

That's why it sets you free.

its a prisoner swap

but, there's a fee

That's why He died for you and me

And spoke of love and high places

So that we could all see

What was right in our faces

The lies and deceptions are out there

The edges of your cage

The matchsticks to your rage

Freeding your demons everyday

Within in you lies the freedom that you crave

If only you begin to see the truth inside

The big save

You are already free, save the spells cast

Of deception with which you agree

You won't cast them aside

Until you finally decide

Come find you,

come see

and maybe together

We can roam free.
Well done! You saw it the others missed it, can you guess why?
Which are you?
Deception is a tricky thing or is it?
 Apr 2021
I asked for the truth,
and you shapeshifted to sleuth,
crawling on your belly,
you simply misconstrue
an irrefutable, objective verity.

Tried and true, misunderstanding
what is out of your view.

Standing and demanding
but never understanding the variable,
to which not all lives,
will play out
the same way.
 May 2020
the present
forever shifts

yet remains

claiming and
re-claiming us

a sequence
of stillnesses

flux and

finite and
‘It is almost banal to say so yet it needs to be stressed continually: all is creation, all is change, all is flux, all is metamorphosis.’
- Henry Miller
 May 2020
Francie Lynch
You say you won't cry
(and you know I know why),
But you will.
When memory reminds you
Of our life and thrills,
Our talks of love
In the park on the hill.
Our fear for our children,
Our love for each one,
Our love for each other
Before our love was gone.
You say you won't cry,
But you know you will.
Simple, repetitive wording.
Artificial city-dwellers
Discard all humanity
Carbon fired tin cans
Pierce the serenity.

Anonymous collisions
Fifty floors below
Each passer by a stranger
You will never know.

Pedestrians, travellers
And their vehicles
Droplets in a river,
Altering the tidal flow.

Irrigation passages
Absorb the elements
Hedge fund panellists,
Bankers and workers flee.

Eye rolling baby boomers
Sit, tutting one by one.
Nervous millennials adorned
In clothes for moths to eat.

Breaking point carriages
Century old tunnelling
A lone foot tapping
And quiet page turning.

Brakes hit the track
Piercing the murmur
Eighty jarred necks
External motion blur.

Sliding carriage doors
A not-so-subtle beep
Dust kicked from dawn
Falls onto the city streets.

Blue tower inhabitants
Busting out of the seams
Water molecules collide
But nothing sinks the fleet.

Smartly suited eye-darters
Push and pull for space
Rolling up the banks
Humanity erased again.

I settle on the brickwork
Until the storm retreats
Circadian commuters
Run to rest their feet.

A few lonely meanders remain
Wondering down the beach
Forlorn festivies fog over
Swinging shop-signs squeak.  

As the lighting rig descends
And once blue ceiling stains
The beige brickwork turns red
The high tide admits defeat.

Pink light turns to navy blue
A faint moonbeam lights the sky
Obscured by one cloud then a few
Vague incandescence frames the scene.

The streetlights flicker overhead
One worn out passenger now leaves
Shrouded, cold, hungry and fulfilled;
Abandonment for some is peace.
Kenopsia: The amosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned - a school hallway in the evening, an unlit office on a weekend, an eerie cityscape - making it seem hyper-empty, with a total population in the negative, so conspicuously absent they glow like neon signs.
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