471
LCD
the
under ones are flabby
in the
head as well
thrown
to thought
and lust
as others
let's
not mention BMI
they are
always seeping through
they
keep the streets in traffic
they
have been known to vote
and hang
by the neck
until
there are more
bring us
to a better world
their
crimes are as the rest
each
with the identical cross
the
unidentified remains
their
hearts are just as full as ours
they've
got it wrong as well
as
much
they're
always looking up
once you
could smell them a mile away
and
retch
and
smell their betters too
just
as whiffy but
how was
it we came to believe in them?
how did
that habit slough?
we stood
to attention for them once
glimpsed
through the dark glass
if they
were in their cups
sine qua
non so we salute
they
were the cenotaph
the
under ones
love
handled
when
they climb on top
be
blissed
lay back
relax
they are
the puddle stain of coitus
that's a
country in the crutch
they too
have read a way to here
and must
have dreamt themselves
they
love their children just as much
sometimes
you will hear them sing
and have
a radio for that
their
struggles for balance
through
generations
how
other-like
fuzzy
upstairs
it's
dimlit
the
masses
come up
on scans
and have
to be watched
the
doctor says
slip in
among them for a crowd
of
birthday bliss
at the
casino
they're
the full candle scammed
and
Christmas will be one of theirs
industry
is all the creatures
how they
must miscegenate!
do you
consider their aches less
or their
griefs less telling?
aren't
they a question hung?
whom
clocks have dazzled
to meal,
bath, bed
they are
the long apprentices
of light
we sell
to them
they
whistle up our arguments
we bring
the evidence required
what if
we were them
or they
were us?
scratch
that
we're
the favourites
they're
the life unpacked
even if
they're of a mind
go like
the clappers
till out
of steam
it's
with their own thoughts they steady
there's
no behind the scenes
though
they invent intrigue
the
extras
airbrushed
most
difficult of customers
bite
and
still agreement nods in them
a far
far better thing they do
if
anything they're too well washed
Good poem. Now I want the movie.
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