I’m thinking of The Orb
and the crusty, mucked crystal
of the transition from child to adult,
scored and soundtracked
excoriated by blunt first loves,
first lives lost, tempest tossed,
into oversensitive abysses
from which there’s “Never loving again!”
except after growing and knowing
Lo-fi made it easier and harder
than these cheeky bleeders,
at least, I know my bare cheeks on film
would take weeks to get back from Boots
and not be broadcast to Kuala Lumpur
in seconds
Age beckons
always
in a way we revulse at
but blunder and succumb to
You becomes we becomes us
as no bad thing
but we must honour
our custodian status
and not impose
The stupid vine grows
where it’ll grow,
we demonstrate this
wonderfully
