Writing Future Histories

I am writing future histories:
unborn ideals that have yet
to hold a hammer for one hot moment.

On a shelf on a shelf on a shelf-
now fast foreward and enhance
to see the synaptic branch extend
in cerebral bloom, then wilt
to be mixed with the earth.

Then this muddled speck may be picked out
and left within one of many canyons
where it is quickly coated in layer after layer
of nacre and, like a lustrous tumor,
pressures its neighbors for just one cup
at a time while the host asks for one minute
to show off something that shines.

The first shot is something to behold
and if it were to miss instead
of lodge itself in someone's breast
we would surely put it on a pedestal.



Margret Thatcher snatched your milk,
but also changed your nappy.

Briton's children couldn't bilk
and so they sat in ennui.

Sid Vicious shed his shit-stain silk:
so proud that he was naughty.

Now he has a tattooed ilk
whose dance is like the sea.


Water Elsewhere

Let's leave the old world behind
climb in our space ship
and start a better life

And when our rocket ignites
spewing white flames into a
blue midsummer sky

I'll want to hold you tight
we'll be the first in flight

Then, when we land, our fragile hands, they will be trembling
What gave us life would then become an emblem of remembering

This is a transmission
to most everything that I love
its depressing

but you have the strength to go on
like we couldn't

Citizens of tomorrow's world
what place do you call home
When it is over there will be scores
and you and I will
be alone

Citizens of tomorrow's peace
what do you dream of
when you're asleep
Is it the horrors of yesterday
or is it only electric sheep