14 May 2011


Dedicated to my children

You lose yourself in a picture book,
delving into a sea of words.
Splash of blue as you dive in - cold on your skin.
Feel alive on the waves, come to life in the pages.
Precious gift.

Ride your white horse to school.
The great adventurer, heir apparent, 
your talent harnessed.  
Overwritten.  System control.
A manageable drone.
Employment fodder for the capitalist machine.
Treasure trove of dreams layered beneath 
municipal emulsion.

"Far away is close at hand 
in images of elsewhere."
Graffiti spied on the daily commute 
from A to B,
at the end of the line.
Assigned now to previous life.
Today you have 'purpose',
rail-rod straight.
To deviate is to waste time and money.
(And that's never funny.)
God forbid that you make a mistake. 

The graffiti’s painted over now.
But that won’t stop you...
There are paths more true than 'A-to-B'.
You start with T.
Meander to M.
Journey through N, O and P
then skip back to D, just for the hell of it.
Just as you feel...
You celebrate the unfettered joy of getting lost.

And to the state, herding us into polite, manageable submission, as worker drones for the great machine, you say: 

'Get lost!'

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