Venture Prism Profit,
And so V.I.P on the wall
and windows
and crushed roses on carpets and crushed widows in car-parks
and crushed men in dark forest and the way of war brought forth with a broad bar
and how we whittle away our future
and how we fiddle away our awareness
and how we spare nothing
we really, truly, feverishly spare nothing
slaying each other on weekends
squashed between weeks of endless actual pain
actual pain
the flimsy suspenders
actual pain
making us dance endless
between visceral engagement
thrashing engagement
gouges found in the defenseless
pristine marketing covering the guilty
“don’t cry over spilled milk,
microwave your tea,
consume the kool-aid”
culture of past
of right now
of burning distorted
distended momentum
being swept away relentless
and back again
and nothing gained
and nothing meant
and “empty the empty”
and nothing but white-washed political correctness
You Are Too Much
Forget The First Sentence
You Are Too Much
you are too much
the riveting conclusion
never-ending delusion
sick comfort-confusion
we are suspended in frothy head
forty degrees south
bed death
bed laid bare to bear the drudgery of modern life vice
lice our heads itchy
stuffed with mechanics
biological idiot box
how we have failed our young
and our once humble hopeful visions
self-hatred un-mending
unraveling us at the seams
maybe we melt together in napalm
maybe we melt together in hidden palm
maybe we
maybe you
maybe I
maybe Agincourt,

Prophet Prison Victim.



Lennox Head, Australia

  • Artist

Artist's Description

This is about the pokies in pubs, the reality of not-so-young, and the momentum of one.

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