The death of a poet.

The death of a poet.

Police were today called to an address in north London, when neighbors had complained about the odd smell. It is believed that occupant is a little known poet who has not been seen for some time.

I could write forever, a constant surveillance
of all the things that rattle across my awareness.
A list only ending when the clock reaches never.

When to shop, the click of a heel
the curve of a girl, a whispered promise.
About every song that’s ever been sung,
every tune that made me smile
all the words that caught in my throat.

The burning issues at the front of our minds,
the wrongs that are done hour by hour.
The lies that are told, the crap we’re sold
about those we abuse for the oil that we use.

The light in the room lessens as the vines begin to cover the window.

The clocks still ticking, Cameron’s fracking,
Blair moves around with a nonchalant air.
Obama the charmer sell guns by the ton
And Bibi kills kids, run Arab run.

The state of the state is well unfair.
Will food banks start charging interest?…
The NHS must turn a shilling,
and social housing’s going public I hear.

I eat cold Yorkshire pudding and consider how to get food without leaving the keyboard.

The models get thinner the nation gets fatter,
I sink into the eyes of Alexa Chung, overcome with lust.
Cheryl and Simon seem so sincere, X + Why = Zero
the news telling me why I-must-trust-the-government.
Join the army, the ads on the telly look like trailers for
the latest movie about the war on terror. If you can
Fix a bike, a car, a plane, a gun, you can kill, yeah it’s OK
Go on son, you know want to, gaming with glory, imagine that.

The webs in the corners are getting bigger, the windows are all but obscured, I hear a scurrying noise, my eyes flick sideways.

Wow a billion euro’s to land a PC on a rock spinning in space.
This will answer some important questions we’re told
What? Like how to end poverty and war, why
we continue to kill each other by the million?

Is the cure for Ebola up there? Is that where Buddha lives?
Will we find out exactly what US shenanigans gave birth to ISIS?
Will I find out why my pet dog just died one night?
Or what the fuck the point of getting old is, exactly?

I hear music in the distance, odd, but sweet, I sense my
great loves in the room with me, I see their faces. I no longer feel hungry

And then of course there is me, I could write about me…

My fingers… what… I can’t move my fi……………………………

Hi yes Amanda. I can tell you that police have now gained entry to the building and discovered a body, all they have told us is that it is a man and he was discovered at his desk slumped over his keyboard.

Wait…. This just in. An early report is saying he appears to have died from malnutrition, Amanda.

Written by Francis de Aguilar© 2014

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One comment

  1. This is absolutely fantastic!

    “the news telling me why I must-trust-the-government.
    Join the army, the adds on the telly look like trailers for
    the latest movie about the war on terror. If you can
    Fix a bike, a car, a plane, a gun, you can kill, yeah it’s OK
    Go on son, you know want to, gaming with glory, imagine that.”

    Great truth in this piece.

    Like

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