Friday, 18 March 2011

Tubercular odyssey




The Lord is my oyster
Such a card
And efficient I concede
Perhaps I need to submit
To his order
Of richly veiled burocratic
Inky blackness
Defined by binary ping pong
The not knowingness
Out of my handiness
With a travelcard
I knew where I was
And I didn’t feel the icy chill
Of his phantom hand
Picking my pocket
When I swipe to exit
It’s etheric in all the wrong ways
Orange ticket void
Oyster shell quantum
Soup soup
I like the bleeping
Perhaps I can let go
But it’s hard to trust
No one in particular

1 comment:

  1. Mikey - your poems continue to amaze! i would love to see them all in one place on a poetry site or even better, a book!

    I think we have all been there, the thieving TFL buggers!

    Keep up the brilliant, astounding work. Nadia

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