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  You are @ HomeAdults Poetry

Poetry

Source: Adults

Author: jonny graham

Title: Mechanix.

E equals, erm, see, squared!
The mechanics of time itself.
Some meaning to, why?
As titanium sockets glide and shift
in painless rotation
through fossilized cartilage
deep inside should-be-dead hips.
And the local girls slide off the beds onto the floor
in a slow motion melt-down scenario
and fingers hover over buttons
and deal with destiny once more.
It all goes back, to herbs and potions, and leeches.
Nothing untoward littering the lines of those beaches.
No ecological issues.
No pressure, no endangered species.
And todays mass circulation picture is
a man falling out a high-rise building
to escape a certain something.
Falling into the last and final act
of his very own explodo splat nightmare.
Shock horror tactics are effective.
Nobody wonders if he had a wife and children.
Society needs badly oiling,
the mechanics are defective.
Help yourself to something from the doctor's bag
climb back in from the window ledges
here, try this,
it'll smoothe you out,
and make you fuzzy at the edges.
This is not wrenches and hammers and rubber glue.
Neither is it a string of Tibetan prayer flags, yellow,
bearing inked mantras, scribed by monks, blue.
But this is the very public rape of evolution,
live, and media-hyped, in your face,
in glorious pixel dynamism, of every conceivable hue.
The Zen slap wake-up call thing,
without warning, done and gone but for the lingering sting.
Man rules the planet, well most of it, all of it soon.
Well done man,
but the wolf still howls at the moon.
Most of the world sees the world
through their TV sets anyway.
Keep the drapes closed honey.
Out of sight is out of mind.
I will be provided with money.
For free.
Pass the doctors bag,
lets have a rummage,
ooh no, last time I had one of those
I nearly became intelligent,
sent me all funny.
We have to get ready, ready for change.
Last time it was the Neanderthals who got the strife.
This time round,
it's the orang-utans fighting for their rights.
In a shrinking rainforest,
that echoes to the harsh bark of buzzsaws,
and the crack splinter fall of magnificent trees.
Palm-oil farmers,
backed by money and industry,
hounding the great apes,
putting on the squeeze.
Putting the balance of natural ecological equilibrium
on the ropes, on the slide, on it's knees.
And in the cocooned safety-world of modern consumerism
there's a new type of virus blowing in
on the wings of a freshening breeze.



Published on writebuzz®: Adults > Poetry
 

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