Deference bows
the body
Servility is bad
posture
Yes, you left it
here
O dear
Can
u keep it for me or will you
smerk it?
I don’t smerk. I’ll
kerp it.
Listen to
yourself/who’s there
_; who -
Take it from
here/ I’ve grown used to it. It’s a burial site.
The dead
chatter, round the roots of the yew trees, and the white stone
in the soil.
Planted. Old habits die hard. Drifting
on the other
side, haunting the air like smoke.
It still means
something to the people. Inside their hearts
wriggling. ffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
it sucks the air out of me.
Operational serfdom
in all but name, the groove cut deep-
You don’t know
you’re doing it, but you do.
What is a people?
A way of doing things. It declares itself
in the droop of
your shoulders, in the curvature
of your spine.
It’s bent the bones of you, it’s written
all over your
face. Servant caste. A larval world, downstairs.
Intrinsic. A
system of relationships holds, despite the disappearance
of the old
infrastructure. Who owns it?
Listen to
yourself/who’s there
_; who -
whispers.
Dig it out. Voices
various police. They say hold back. Arrest
this moment. Terror.
The truth is cruel in laughter. Hardness
is the thing. We
bump into it. The city limits. The margin of us
so far, and no
further. Tantalising. We can always see further
than our feet
can take us.
It’s so
beautiful outside.
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