i rolled out of my bed this morning,
i admired the garden and picturesque awnings,
whether trough or crest – well, i’d still be yawning,
arabesque decor spells out “culture whore”
it’s a sad fact that the wealthy ignore,
that nobody; not one person is keeping score,
sweet fancy moses — i would loathe to be bored
at opulence compounded, could i ask for more?
i gave it all up and was branded a loon,
tossing shit from bay windows; labelled a baboon,
tranquilised by a society of material fools,
inside jokes all satirical like Siegfried Sassoon,
so i beat on my chest and i howled at the moon
and prayed revolution would be coming soon,
times then were different: i was yet to attune
to accept blistering indifference that leaves lives in ruin.