Sunday, 7 February 2010

In the Spirals

In the spirals of your gently spreading anger,
I'm lost for a bit, while you spit the seeds of hate from your paperback copy of the Grapes of Wrath, and shout literary pretensions at me while I just stand and stare.

You’re not individual, was all I said, muttered in the marble veins of the ground,

That’s how deep and hard it was too hear - but you latch and you tear and you screech and you scream about how it’s all boring, and the same and plastic out there! While in your head it’s new and it’s grand and it’s true and it’s better than before, when you read the books fifty years old and hear them speak to you, and only you! Like they haven’t to hundreds of thousands of teens across the world before.

For God’s sake - don’t be so clich├ęd.

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