We Are Broken Rain

Broken rain falls independently
without potential for perichoresis
they do not forming puddles
as they should.
Every separate ambition
is at odds with all the other
little ambitions, trapped
in a snow-globe world
of self-significance and
matchstick babel towers
of our own sordid achievements.

Cheep philosophies rebound
from the walls of this snow-globe,
self-fashioning limitless echoes
which guess the content
of any counter argument.
They chew off their own ears
in the self-importance
of being a teacher,
like a faustian imbecile
who has littered the floor
with pages of children's books
but thought himself above
their pictures.

Who punctuates his life
with commas of conversation:
All opportunities to shout white noise
at bored and tired ornaments of ego,
and thus banish listening
to the caverns of past lessons,
that are remembered and repeat
but in fact, never learned!
Even in the nursery
we piled high our matchstick babel towers
we dreamt of bathing in heaving coins and paper bills
convinced our own plastic chair shone,
whilst others faced the floor.

The only way to break
from this snow-globe world
is to remove concentric circles
from our eyes.
The only way to continue breathing
is to tell a more interesting story
than our own moment of respiration,
to tell a more truthful fact
than our own subjective opinions
that fall apart when the glass of our worldview
begins to crack and splinter.

Oh these concerns are never ending
and it's all narcissism
and it is all exhausting.
Try to breathe
in our bath of heavy coins,
and copper poison will
dull our skin until
the wisdom of years
labels us foolish,
as wrinkles crack our reflection
and mortality paints nothing
over our paper bills
that once made us smile.

Written Dec 27th 2010 with the title 'The Bigger Picture'. Re-editted between 2013 and 2016 for 'An Array of Vapour', my as-yet-unread and unpublished collection of Poetry.


Popular posts from this blog

Her Fingers

Our Boy

Displaced Redemption