Don’t reminisce.

Looking back,
At the last fifteen years,
Is curious.
Change of blistering pace
colliding
with stultifying
life-sapping stagnation.

Howls of collective anguish that
have terrified
and inspired.
Crushing defeats.
Destructive internalisation
of the pressure bought to bear
on us.

Smeared as apathetic wastrels
or nihilistic vandals
by turn.
Our disgust
has never been discussed
as disgust.
By those who require our consent.

A generation raised on pseudo psychiatry.
Fed with the carrot
Beaten by the stick.
Haunted by nostalgia,
before the moment’s finished
taunted
with images of our already appropriated rebellion.

Day of passion and anger edited, re-edited.
fed back instantly
As juvenile tantrums, senile routine
A to B, back to A
and then B again, or A to F to Z to D.
Smash the windows on the way.
The rolling words on the screen, stayed the same.

Things have changed.
The boundless optimism of those
hot days, on pink and silver barricades
couldn’t be sustained.
But it did train us, to possibilities.
Remind us, in retreat,
of temporal fragility

Our well being picked apart,
like defective stitching .
The seams that kept the flanks attached to the sleeves
disappeared.
Separated, they flap in the breeze.
Dangling, from the choking collar
helplessly.

Aware of things those before us weren’t
But lacking the tools,
wrenched from their hands.
Still to be found.
The wheel’s rising, and our hands grip the top.
But our feet
are trapped beneath.

Our fibres, tautened.
Distorted, natural colour marbled and strained.
Will they give way?
plaster the walls with our insides
Will they snap back, in a pile?
lose any shape or form
Will we reduce the prison to ashes and dance in the flames?

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