Kill the horse that bought you here,
eat his hoofs
wear his mane as a fashionable ponytail at a party
for people in the media
where coma patients have been paid
to stand stationary in corners
as some kind of artistic statement –
a metaphor perhaps?
Sit on the veranda and swallow the sunset
swatting away dune-bugs and fireflies.
Feed your neighbours elephant with acid laced buns.
I’m not Jack the Ripper
I’m not Lord Lucan
I am not prolific.
I am not notorious like Harold Shipman.
sever your ties with good friends and creditors.
Unplug your microwave
introduce the TV to a sledgehammer.
Pop the bread from the toaster.
Never agree with the feedback from surveys.
Graffiti is daubed on the skin of unconscious tramps,
give ‘em a fiver
watch ’em fight
up load it.
The revolution will be digitised and
Tiananmen square was a hologram
a little fact:
the man in front of the tank
he had a Tesco bag clasped in his hand.
I wander what the air tastes like in North Korea?
Goodnight liquid modernity
so long electric eye.