Glitters and red meters
givers and received perceivers
usher the gift of illusionary display
vision all the aspects of reality

Signal the surreal posts on trees
yank and spotlight my dreams
walk and split the glass panels
wagon us from societal ice

Glitters and red masks
course every vein of our being
pour the red wine and misplace
protrude every nautical sense

Read my palm, contact the wizard
grab my sight, take me to the moon
contactless,eventful and tasteful
contactless, easy and resourceful

That pound means more to her
Than it does to me
She's got to feed her family
A family of three

****** by the government
And ******* by society
This is what it's like
To live in Blighty

They've come here for a better life
A second chance
And a chance to survive
No they're out
On their own
Just like a dog
Without its bone

****** by the government
And ******* by society
This is what it's like
To live in Blighty

It's **** or be killed
The rich feed the rich
While the poor scape and beg
All alone
On a cardboard bed
No change for you
No not today
I need my money
Sorry love
Not unless you accept contactless
Or Apple Pay

****** by the government
And ******* by society
This is what it's like
To live in Blighty

( a mention to Bernardo Soares and the twenty one grams )

Preening?
they're ******' dreaming.

say,
is contactless new?
'bout as new as old can be,
people been contactless for years
peers can't or won't
acknowledge peers feeling
it's better to be alone than
to be herded like steers to
the abattoir and that's how
far it was thought out

contactless?
absolutely clueless as
to what's going on,

people getting on with the
everyday task of,
don't look
I won't ask,

ps
I was told off for my use
of offensive language,
what the ****'s that all about?

the only things offensive to me
are the rich making riches from
poverty,
motor vehicles pumping
out obituaries and people who
complain about cigarettes,

it sets me on fire as to why a
swear word or two
could make you
feel so aggrieved.

Those twenty one grams you lose in death?
well
some breathe them out with every word on
each breath,
but
they're only peacocks
getting their rocks off
by
complaining.

Plastic fantastic
Sits in my wallet
Waiting for flirtatious contactless action.

My personal details emanating constantly
From my ruminating flexible friend,
From my ruminating flexible foe.

Never ending debt
Leaves me a slave to a monetary master
Piling on the debt faster and faster.

Battered worn leather houses the card
That screams a constant binary plea,
Begging to be heard by an electric mate.

I need to silence this traitor
- This debt facilitator -
But I'm hooked on its fleeting ability to buy me that which I do not need.

My card constantly screams my personal data,
Broadcasting 1s and 0s endlessly,
Betraying and exploiting me through ruthless efficient binary.

you sometimes stumble into these situations
without even wondering
how else to later describe them:
verbatim...
                      however the mundane the details
are...
    i should a series or something,
Gibsberg-esque, not not quiet
     'what thoughts i have of you,
walt whitman...
                                     i went into
the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!'
     but still... scenes from supermarkets...
more grit, realism...
                         just like tonight:
went for two beers and a whiskey with
thoughts, more alligned to:
                why do i dream so little?
why the weight of thanatos' clepsydra
on my chest upon waking
from a dreamless night -
            as if: starless in...
                  places like a district in seoul...
well...
         i found myself standing in line to
the cashier...
    some guy behind me was asking
by name / nametag (a high rarity event
of the general impersonal take on
shopping - or in matter of fact...
    the degredation of the sellers...
                   unlike elsewhere,
   circa 1980s Poland - where the
saleswoman amassed a status of ms.
   and the buyer was never a mr.
     or a mrs. but a strippen-barren you -
now exchange the words,
    pani                       /                ty
                               lost in translation)...
(Karen)
                about lightlubs...
                 i.e. yeah, they were different...
but in front of me... a real curiosity...
placed the beer and the whiskey
next to the cashier...
    stood casually for...
                   "    no apparent reason"...
a decent 2 minutes...
         the guy started fiddling
with two debit cards,
       and a handful of change...
i mean... 2pence coins 1 pence coins...
twenties, maybe a quid,
tens etc.
                first he tried one card
on the contactless... failed...
                  then he gave the handful
of change to the cashier
who started counting it...
    she counted: almost three quid...
i.e. not enough
      for what he was about to steal...
all the gift of the gob...
    i mean: those little conversations...
you know the yappy yappy puppy
sort... talk like honey...
  or an aqua-man...
                            just kept pouring
out... excuse here there, excuse there...
apologised to me for waiting...
sure sure...
             he was given his spare change
back...
        so he takes out another card:
again, fails on the contactless...
  so he's asked to insert it and use
the pin...
                  oops, says the cashier... failed...
oh... a quick glance at the clock...
an open carrier bag... next to the thing he's
going to steal...
              mouth of honey doubles down...
what time will you be closing?
      15 minutes...
          oh that's alright then,
   i'll just come back with the missing change...
walks away...
   and i'm like...
did you see that?
          only my eyes are talking.
cashier no. 1: see what?
security guard:                   (too late)
cashier no. 2 leaving
work, fiddling with her
shopping on the self-checkouts:
  (she'll come into this story when
i'm walking out with my whiskey
and beer,
   i'm eyeing her queerly
she's eyeing me huh? passing me
she starts muttering to herself)
                        he knows he knows
(gritted teeth talk)...
   as i look at the security guard,
a colt... quick on the mark!
                   linford ******* christie quick...
i did love the little shuffle and mini
dance as he tried to avert himself
from me...
point being...
    it's a petty crime...
                    i did one better...
less theatre, stole a c.d. from a...
w.h. smith...
                   cds books...
          but **** me... all that theatre
using spare change, cards,
mouth of honey, confusion... for the item
that i saw being stolen?
  so i thought:
     maybe this guy is moving up in life...
maybe there's this sort of jinx
for thieves,
that you have to steal this item
before you do a bank heist...
                                or the jewelers...
just something...
    i mean... i've heard of ******
junkies stealing meat from supermarkets
to sell et&
                          i mean...
me stealing a c.d. from a store...
   with cameras everywhere...
  but this guy... it had to be... he was
probably told by some guys:
   you can't do a proper job
on a bank if you don't steal this piece
of item first...
      because who, the ****,
would steal... a pair of woman's tights?!
unless he has a gig
   as a drag queen...
             a fetish...
                  or... eh?
                        i mean... that's like...
why the **** would i even
watch the movies?
           - and... i can't even make this up...
unless... a very...
    what sort of man would be
with a woman who tells him:
even if you don't have the money...
you better steal for me... a pair of tights...
yeah...
berkeley 1955...
          ginsberg thinking about
whitman walking into the neon fruit
supermarket...
essex 2019...
   me thinking about how i don't
dream enough walking into
a supermarket and seeing
     linford ******* christie security
guard do a little dance
   after he realised
  that the mean before me
just stole a pair of woman's tights;
hardly a ******* comparison.

Today I went to London Town
A city famed for its wealth and crown
But the reality will make you frown

There are no paths of gold here to be found
But a sea of homelessness to drown
Occasionally a passer-by bends down
Chucking a coin in to a hat or cup
As though they’d pick something dodgy up

If they placed it in their hand
But most walk by in a dreamland
Pretending they don’t even exist
Crossing the street on a pivotal twist
A quick pirouette, ensures an inconvenient truth is missed

Today I went to a matinee
A luxury, a theatre play
I traveled the train without a worry to pay
Simply swiped my card the contactless way

Indulged in a big meal out
For fifty quid it was a reasonable shout
While across the road is this girl hanging about
And her dogs called Buster, I found out

I gave her some change and the time of day
Asked if I could stroke her dog, she said I may
On the girls lap Buster lay
Eyes wide, grateful for love I sent his way

She needed twenty two pounds
For a full week stay at the shelters grounds
But the funds she said she never found

“When I come back I’ll bring you a drink”
She asked for hot chocolate
I gladly agreed
I called the Salvation Army where she said she’d be received
Providing she had the money to leave

My call was in a queue but nobody picked up
I wanted to pay so she and Buster could snuggle up
Somewhere warm, even for just a week
So her ankle could heel and they’d get some sleep

I walked to the corner where I promised that hot drink
I looked around, took a double blink
Buster and his owner where gone, before I had time to think

Now I’m home in bed, heating on
Hoping they are somewhere warm
Praying that they gained some profit
I never delivered the promised hot chocolate

I'm in line at a store, and I'm bored,
Typing on my phone, restless and alone.

I’ve got light-blue nails, like the sky or your eyes.
I like them, it’s my favorite color - don’t know why.

I’m buying flavors for my coffee, nutmeg and pumpkin spice.
I like having coffee in the morning, when it’s cold, they’ll taste nice.

There’s a really old lady at the check-out, she’s moving very slowly.
She’s paying with cash and coin, from a pouch, counting carefully.

She’s frail and reminds me of my Grandmère, with her white hair,
her sturdy shoes, I want to pick her up and hug her - but laissez-faire.

When my turn came, I waved my Apple watch over the pay terminal
- it’s fast and contactless - like the whole modern world.

Does anyone hug old ladies anymore?