Inchoate Melodies

Grapple with the C while I turn around this G.

In its essence it’s perfectly innocent just the jaws gaping but I have to eat

And the knife in my hand and the fork and the spoon. So I’m a cutlery thief now?

A plate pusher, a tumbler tosser, a salt n pepper spiv? I sit on my arse too

Is sitting down an inchoate crime against gravity?

Looking is the beginning of coveting which I cannot do so shall I look honestly away and then be in denial too? Which as everybody knows is like turning a blind eye. A blind eye to crime?

As the dollars and cents tumble past like invisible crisp packets on the wind it’s all i can do to hold out my hand and the coldness that I feel is the cold sweat of indigent workers on a pound a day in far flung India or Indonesia.

Public money for public spaces, interior designs on exterior places. Everybody has their place in the new nirvana. That’s good to know as it’s my money that built it. But I must still be shallow because of the inchoate value in an oak bench in the middle of some paving reminds me that something is missing still. Another bench anyone?

Would you care to join us and stroll around pleasantly in this commercial district? Or would  you rather just stay at home at stick up your feet while watching TV?

Wouldn’t that be good in a public space? I see a giant TV, free for everybody. Showing only the BBC and all that is kind and goodly.

If something is lost at this level – the finished product – then what else is filtered out on the way up? Isn’t the idea of a public space what needs debating? Who knows where that could lead. Inchoate dreams need stimulating. Either that or they will butcher you.



Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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