blistering indifference

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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.

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