electionista

so yeah here he is
walking up to the microphone
the subtle smile-wince
here he is casting verbs not votes

and you're there like some
glee club reject, red wine
beads of sweat at yr brow
the creases of yr forehead
in the shadows baby

breathing each molecule of freedom
til we're emastacated, domesticated
and ludicrously lubricated

the fried starch, the malted hops
the joint, the taste of cock and cunt

and all you see is a man at the microphone
and all you hear is a vocal drone
as each sheet dropped brings another gasp

fist grips, head twitchin
like post-coital wallpaper

and today my 3 minutes of democracy
emptied the bag into ballots
not bullets,
just the threat of it
of violence

or instead we're gripping the shaft tight
we're lusting at the moon tonight
waiting for the worm
and the black flag to fly

texting futures from jesus
to drink thine own piss
these trunks crashing around us
all blanket fire
and feathers

out here we're smoking sides of mountains
in seconds, pulling off the iron, the uranium

swallowing hard-drive sound-bytes
demanding microwave superiority
examining your legs on my back
in the mirror as the thing kicks in

this new-kid old-kid banter
at bus-stops, outta the rain
cuffs sopping black mud crust

and all you see is a man at the microphone
and all you hear is a vocal drone
as each sheet dropped brings another gasp
another gasp

at the cardboard fortresses
poised to mark boxes
to smash back viral memescapes
to mortgage belt herds
dressed in marginal best-book face
updating my aspirational profile
our shopping-centre clusterfuck
journeys, like an anti-bogucki run

then to me
on all fours
in the sand
its the mall rush blur
then back to me
licking glass, the bitumen
the fattest sun in our faces
back to him

cut.fade
then back to me
the thing you like
action.cut
reset

and the 24 hour news cycle
repetition kicks in
the outline of his little birdy
smuggling little brown people
in his little red trunks
using yr precious gift
to keep the bastards honest

and all you see is a man at the microphone
and all you hear is a vocal drone
as each sheet dropped brings another gasp
another gasp

like wearing bob brown's skin
in a rainbow church
screaming i do i do i do at the rafters
the blood of christianity on the dew

from the carpark, the gallops
we see white horses in masques
riders with sharpened steel
the fleshy peterloo of it all

and at the ballot box
i pull the lighter
from my pocket. flick
and set the corner
of this ticket alight
that the edges of this
infallible paper construction
aflame

and we yell fire fire fire
as we rush from the school
an anarchistic panic
alarms piercing in
heroic disenfranchisement
in radical repetition
shifting gears

and all you see is a man at the microphone
and all you hear is a vocal drone
as each sheet dropped brings another gasp
another gasp

at the oval then
we gather en mass
discuss the merits
of a rulerless society
a culture without borders
no nations or bosses
or capital
or pigs with batons

at elections
we are crushed with choice
or no choice
no real voice
no participation
no actual engagement
like 13 million
8 hundred - 69 thousand
and 29 people
voting in unison
can make a real difference
to this cafe ecosystem

and all you see is a man at the microphone
and all you hear is a vocal drone
as each sheet dropped brings another gasp
another gasp

and when i say fuck shit up
i'm serious
not just spray painted
on a bass guitar case

and this is never a game of skill
just a competition of popularity
this discursive blood-letting
of ideology, of coercive authority
whislin for dogs in chorus
everybody now

a war of the haves
and the have-a-lots
and the have-somes
and the have-a-littles
and the have fuck alls

and all you see is a man at the microphone
and all you hear is a vocal drone
as each sheet dropped brings another gasp
another gasp

this is a great big new tax on yr mindshare
they spit smiling eloquent stone each night
mirrored heads on my big-screen
yet n velvet ottoman splendour
for a fraction of the price
he you we
sit
and
desire

something

and all you see is a man at the microphone
and all you hear is a vocal drone
as each sheet dropped brings another gasp
another gasp