Progress Diaspora

Written by: Paul Knight-Kirby

I fucked up and not just the once, for all, 
but delivering none to none am I doomed 
to doom?  Trying to fly with broken wings 
among croutons in a silk soup, I have 
failed in every task, I have done my best 
lent my hand to every request and each 
demand, now in peeling fatique, placed 
under the worst of a curse troded along 
to lose, ghetto man guitar and blues, a 
forgotten product created in the twink of 
a eyelash, and now to squat and ponder, 
under a railway bridge cellar of a dry 
almost unreachable part, I take solice my 
silent mentor, my salvaged belongings 
tied in humble bondage, the street 
furniture and rubbish, the temporal 
monument indeed to the lives I lead, a 
setting example for champions of love 
and equality, my cardboard box home is 
flapping about with the breeze, tangled in 
weeds resting upon a old wild heath, I am 
made dormant by a non-compliant 
installment of a broader and invested 
trauma, just a epsilon grade being minial 
level of acceptability, minimum wanting 
for longevity a expendable peasant living 
in lands of a double sided bench of 
protection, can you really see?  what has 
changed from mankind's timelooped 
medley more technology and tyranny now