New TV Channels scorch the atmosphere
junk programmes by the thousand
My Mother The Car!!!
shredding what we should comprehend
the sunrise detonates outside
Philip K Dick pounds away at the typewriter
as if by word he can save the world
Dystopian synopsis in a perfumed envelope
delivered by Androids
stepping over city rubble
mankind sobbing underground
I’m living for the Director’s Cut
to feel my life is complete
at the moment
I’m the child of the cutting floor
celluloid curled up like burnt pubic hair
my vision of the future is being hijacked
at gunpoint
and a slowly pulled trigger
feels as sacred as a Buddhist prayer
like a Disney take on suicide
I pixel my last words and they vanish
funeral pyres of Utopias smoulder
in the parking lot
the shadow of monsters
defines the future
Dylan Thomas’s ‘Bible black’?
Philip K Dick looks down from his window in
the High-Rise
knowing nothing is worse than a reality
that is faster than a bullet train/latest rocket
that imagination cannot catch up with
nothing he writes can outrun the horror
of destruction over creation
pencil in our eventual extinction
babies born with eyes operating
like shutters of fear
1/800 of a second fast
stare us out
as we spin on an axis of a dying planet
the Universe becomes a dumping ground
for all our twisted scientific dreams
space junk and dead astronauts orbit the earth
and not new planets
Philip K Dick tells us we will be ’resurrected
by madness alone…’
I flick the bedroom light switch and the world
ends
serenaded out by Billy Holliday
I’ll Be Seeing You
I’ll be seeing you
In every lovely summer’s day
In everything that’s light and gay
I’ll always think of you that way
.
Malcolm Paul
.