We have left our past completely behind
No longer able to live in the present
Always looking for something new to find

We've burned our history and its branches that extend
Say we cherish the tree as we bite into its burning apple
And cut it down every day, with no end

We give our attention to a small thing for a day, like the apple now rotten
But the next day our focus will have decreased
And by a year it will be completely forgotten

As a society, we are forced to move on
And wander away from everything we loved
And everything you hold dear is now long gone

We swear, but can't bear the remembrance of all
We lie, we try to forget the small
We leave, we grieve to solely grow tall

And we break, we take from the world we've won
We'd stop admiring, and firing a book rather than a gun
And we've chased, and replaced, to get closer to the sun

And we've forever been progressing, moving farther and farther away
That now, in the end, not even time will be there to stay

She meanders through life,
Seemingly undisturbed by other’s anger.
To rouse her,
One must be lazy or disrupt her plans.

She’s incessantly crafting improvements,
To reduce waste and chances for error,
But she overlooks the human element,
Forgets people need to interact, like machines need oil, for optimal functioning.

She enjoys helping others out,
Explains things in novel ways, which
Those who listen seem to enjoy,
But if you pester her too frequently she just might snap!

Snap with the pressure,
For no matter the interruption,
She rarely gives herself permission,
To fail to meet that day’s deadlines.

Perhaps some day she’ll learn,
The perfect amount of leeway to incorporate,
So she can patiently help everyone,
Without putting her own goals in jeopardy.

Or, perhaps,
She’ll learn that people are always more important than things,
For things can’t hold a grudge or learn much,
While happy people, once trained, are more productive!

the man nearby on the train clacks his laptop offensively
like the annoyance of noisy writers in school exams
when I was stultified by writers block
I wonder what the black girl would taste like
passengers feed their fatness with crinkly cellephane food substitutes

did you have a good weekend?
conversation openers start to chorus
corporate cockwombles
talk in jargon tongues
as they sell their souls
to white shirt organisational ambition
common sense takes a back seat
in the street car of Progress
there's talk of profit and effiencies
from men who never made their wives moan
there's talk of scalability and security
from those who know nothing of flexibility and risk
there's talk of innovation
from those whose personal best
is a smart phone

have you seen the latest?
what do you think?
hey, that's what I think!
we must be brothers!
in a cozy co-ordinated mediocrity.