The Grift of Things

A pressured series of streets may disappear
and that may be quite a treat
to find ourselves remaindered, resembled, relocated

without our consent even: bee-yoo-ti-ful!

The fear narrative, the fucked tongue.

Everybody has these on the bedroom dresser.

Most episodes are actually perceived
as episodes now and that's television,
surer than the witches in Macbeth.

The ones who embezzle narratives
are the ones who drive us to murder
or thoughts of it. Bankrolling bots

infiltrate every family, it's inevitable.

Here are some common curses:

writing a novel
theory
Barcelona
pseudo-moral saviour classes
bicycles
well-dressed addicts
famous friends
collapsible blogs
set-up funds
etc. etc.

We are bed.

That's the only battle I recognize.

Or sometimes this is rephrased: We are bedding.

There is a fairy tale I keep close which insists:

we wear it won't
say goodnight patting
a covered now
my meadow
of you be a
nothing please
me should
books in words
midnight years back
But like that
I will cleave you
and cleave to you
messed-up
as the junkie cop
in the rathole
nonpareil
I promise you:
the stars are quarantined
above a story
like ours