ficto-critical toyota

police now targetting regicide &
fucked up by the ghost of anthropology
you wonder how a traffic jam on king street
stacks up against your wannabe newtown futurism,
that stammering fluorescent light suggesting
the same bus as took you to work is taking you home
& the niceties of technique line up
beside your meagre reading as it starts to rain,
wondering how much of this
will happen beneath your feeble gaze
& how much you can fill in later,
imagining the abyss where the poem feels
like an essay or the minister for education
making up numbers as what passes for debate
on what passes for policy takes place
in what passes for newspapers -
if practice isn't over,
can that really be our final score?

home | journal | poetry | grafx | webjunk | dogportal

ted@magicdog.com -- 25 August 2000