Head stone by Stephen Miles

Head stone

We like what we like
who we like, when and where we like it
no need to appease
nor realm with which to reside our affection

it’s a costless, free will world
democratically democratic, presided over
without distinction, favour to faction
a classless caring society of life form human

protector to any, loving all with equal equality
insect lava and elephants roaming Savannahs
equatorial jungles, Manhattans urban sprawl
myths gainfully employed, gathering no moss
streams of communication, feline nine tail whipped

monopolised, controlled, made into profit
a continuity of infiltration, persistently thwarting
surreptitiously streaming perceptions, of thought freedom
hijacked, repacked and sold back

promoting the washing of brains
an appeasement, subduing the mass machine
without bobbles or hitches, smooth as a silk
perusing continuation of dominance

taxes up, taxes down, insurrections abated
selling today, the planet craves carbon
anaerobic decompositions 650,000,000 year old
a vote winner, sold to the gullible

like bulls lead round fields, the ring through the nose
fed cud, gleefully swallowed, digested and discarded
defecating our own home with the emissions
a fertiliser purchase, concealing cost of deferred payment

spending a spree, funded by the house sale
provisionally postponed until the funeral arrangement
no wake mourners to listen to the beat surrender fanfare
the head stone reading, nodded when should have shook.

Stephen Miles about Stephen Miles. I’m 53 diagnosed dyslexic at 47, 47 years avoiding literary word, I’ve discovering spell check as a best friend. My subterranean mental deficiency proved an unfounded, exploding to the surface as a wordsmiths lava. Flowing the external walls of a poetic volcano. So yes, I now write poems. Poems about the life, life around me. Things I see, hear, perceive unjust. Basically, shooting my mouth off.

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