The flimsy masturbations of the leaders of our nations are numbing themselves into self-exiled castrations.
I can see you –
Cameron, Netanyahu, Ahmedinijad, Obama
All topless in one fucked up online chat room
Face masks of cellophane held together with IP numbers of previously sold gold
Ears covering eyes and noses smelling mouths
Pixelated walls blurring what is being said with what isn’t being said
Blurring who is kissing who
Whose lips are whose
Whose bits are whose
Whose fibs are whose
but its always
Tits or GTFO
Information or GTFO
Compliance or GTFO
Get the fuck out – so I did
The milk of our ideas is
running through the streets
Mixing our spits with their shits
And disappearing down the drains to its intestines
To where we intersect intermingle intersex
Intersex intersex I interject and
She sleeps in a glass bed
We make beaches together
We change the shapes
Of the continents together
Crumbling biscuits dipped into
Each other’s hot mouths
We make them fit how we fit how they used to fit before the dinosaurs didn’t fit.
When you fall asleep on the metro
And wake up falling off a cliff
We are changing the tide
And making beaches
In her glass bed
And I can see you right through it
And we erode we explode we do what we have been forbode
And bleach us together –
We make beaches together.
the flimsy masturbations of the leaders of our nations are numbing themselves into self-exiled castrations.
I can see you –
Putin, Merkel, Mugabe
All topless in one fucked up chatroom
Asking each other to see feet to see ankles to see toes
Pockets of BitCoins jingling to songs they don’t know the words to
But in our den with ceilings for walls and carpets for doors and windows for windows
You are not present
You are in the drains
Whilst the milk of our ideas takes us to clouds made of glass
And skin that tastes of rushed bike rides from the station
To your wet mouth.
Bio: I don’t like to write about myself in the third person. My name is James Bird and I am a 23 year old boy who lives in Hackney, London. I am from Wolverhampton, which is a city near Birmingham. I write words and also publish other people’s words in a publication called the Belleville Park Pages. I have been published in some magazines and some online things. I like to analyse social happenings, play football and read Private Eye.
Synopsis: The vague narrative-ish of the poem contemplates the idea of being in bed with somebody whilst thinking about other things going on. It is political fuckery. Most of the nouns in the piece are blurred or indefinite. The political leaders can be interchanged, ears are eyes and the bed is made of glass. What is thought of as a social media form is usurped by the ruling class. Here, a chatroom, is inhabited by those who do not usually ‘chat’, at least not in the public eye. Yet they are all baring skin, not to us (society), but to each other. Perhaps sharing a bed is the place where this corruptness cannot reach. But the bed is made of glass, and can be seen right through.