Damn.
If no one is answering the phone,
then how will we ever get to them?
If no one in the community even knows
that this is going on,
how will we ever ensure that our means
have ends?
How will we ever be able to go back to the place where we pretend
that so much is at stake.
That so much must be done in haste.
That one’s most beautiful and noble intent
is a space for us to forsake?
Is a place where the damned and the wicked can finally learn how to play
with a grown man-woman’s ego,
and a grown woman-man’s boats. Harbours. The Roads
where there is no reception. No way to call home.
And maybe that’s a good thing,
because after dialling one quadrillion people’s numbers,
and breaking into their psychoemotional home,
you won’t believe how long you’ll need to hang up on us,
before we actually start to atone
for our sins.
For the way we minced
people’s minds into very small pieces,
and then chucked them into the bin.
It’s the sadomasochism
that really enlivens the spirit
when all you have to live on
is a battered, ugly, musty yellow NLP-book,
and a lot of ways to pretend to say
‘I win’.