Congloberates
For Rose
I pay attention to who’s around me it’s
a handy vestige from a paranoid childhood.
While someone stands next to me I’ll
be taking him in, retrieving some data
often pointless – e.g.
that watch is from his wife.
At times I notice people’s compositions
all they’re touching that’s merged invisibly
with their cell structure could be
anything from a tin can lid to the
old puce wallpaper, the NEWS.
Don’t they feel itchy, overheavied
tied to stillness by these
Gulliver’s tiny people’s ropes?
Maybe the best approach to the world
is an informed revulsion
a purifying surge that leaves us
less complex, less fuckless than that.