Saturday, March 01, 2014


Make waste, be profligate in all you do,
Become a legend at the garbage heap,
Discarding everything others might keep
And leaving floodlights on, the whole night through.
Plough through your youth — these tears are nothing new —
And find your way to that enchanted sleep
Your little life is rounded with, and sweep,
Sweep, sweep the cobwebs, and the spiders, too.

Remind yourself that everything is dross,
And treasure nothingness. You'll carry on,
Mistaking hope for hacksaws, brain for brawn,
Eleven down for fifty-three across.
Express yourself through advertising, loss,
And empty laughter. Love and hope are gone.