Mother of all Constructs

Look what we’ve done to ourselves

We weren’t supposed to be here

But now that we are,

to fuck with it all.

I’d rather lie down on my belly

and rub my cock against the bed

and be indifferent

to passion and pain,

than this.

I’d been to these fabulous banquets.

I have wined and dined and slept

with these splendid women,

shaken hands with their husbands

and discussed Orson Welles with investment bankers.

I’ve seen dogs dying,

Cats screwing,

Horses running in moonlight.

As if any of these matters.

This wishing well

is a nice dream

These children

will never become kings and queens.

And the women

don’t love

And the men

don’t exist.

And worst of all,

The boxers don’t dodge punches.

This is a sad place

Dying of tedium and lassitude

Dying of wretched indifference

The mountains have moved away

The oceans have dried up

The dark that once was an idea of pure marvel

stinks of pee and puke from ordinary human perception,

worn out with thirst and want of care.

We were all on our way to glory then

We are all stickers on beat windscreens now.

I can’t choose between beer and icecream

I can’t choose

between being here

and not being here.