Up before dawn to line up outside
the raining shining hard on the pavement
Did I forget something or is it my brain?
Cloning of our lives
Ourselves mere reflections
of a consumer society
gone wrong, consuming itself like a phage virus
spitting out excretions of individuality
to be consumed like cupcakes
bought at your local patisserie
itself a symbol of rebellious
machinations carried out
under the cloak of privacy
all that is allowed is fake
by those getting it right
themselves spitting bile
at those recumbent losers
who dare to question the status quo
Is it our passions alive with flame
or is it just a stupid game played out in the schoolyard?
where water flies and extinguishes doubt, reason, doubt
the one thing that sets us apart from the apes
is our art, our reason, our lives.
©Andrew Watkins 2020
I look at the passers-by and they look innocent in their guilt
Or guilty in their innocence or innocent in their innocence
and occasionally guilty in their guilt. Body language is a
powerful tool to us to project ourselves to another without
words or with if you prefer. Does the one who casts stones
do it with the body language of the just , the right, the white man
as my Dad is fond of saying. Does he cast his stone with the right weight
and is his aim true? When it comes to it I am broken in by stones
in part that bear no relation to the truth but whose fall was on my back or side
or throat. Though shalt not throw stones would be a blasphemy to those
who grow as they throw. But would we all be able to grow? If we were to leave judgement to the LAW and God would everybody walk tall regardless and the stone throwers sorrow
would be that there are more than a few.
And in their innocence would a stone thrower throw just to see how far he could throw?