In the supermarket, this morning,

I completely forgot the name of my cholesterol lowering spread.

Medical foods tend to have ridiculous names for a reason.

They, obviously, fucked up.

​

‘This kind of ideological dislocation is reflected in the pseudo-scientific linguistic fog developed

by the financial system.’

​

Covid 19.

Now that’s memorable.

 

#2

​

‘As the glittering towers of finance capital burst the clouds in one city after another, we find

ourselves in the bizarre predicament of looking admiringly at the architectural bravado of

institutions that have been instrumental in causing the current crisis and so much misery.’

​

Anna is gluing a flimsy facade onto the housing of the blinds.

She hands me the caulking gun and I drip it on the bench.

​

I use some toilet paper to wipe away the worst of the mess,

Thinking of Bukowski dropping his wallet in the crapper.

 

#3

​

The other day I was reading over a poem and realised,

I had spelled Bukowski's name wrong!

​

There is a reason he’s Bukowski,

And I write about bruises.

 

#4

​

My latest bruise is the shape of a pigeon.

A big fat one.

It flew into me in the car port.

The walk to the beer fridge has become an obstacle course.

​

Piles of junk,

Piles of junk,

Piles of junk.

​

It was no kereru,

Just one of those city pricks.

 

#5

I have been watching Worldometer Live Counters,

A virtual room of limbless bandits.

It has become an obsession.

​

Even when I leave to eat or sleep,

I do not leave.

​

‘This discrepancy between evolutionary success and individual suffering is perhaps the most

important lesson we can draw from the Agricultural Revolution.’