That of an ESN
Black lips sipped on plastic straws
From cream skimmed figures crated, awaiting an hour
Figures of dire fates in a freudian fantasy presume an alluring eye that might hear a Siren and see sirens flashing a future of assumption concluded in a dreams mistake.
Black lips drip white with activated intolerances and lactates
shameful little monkey mans fear of swine and mothers milk.
Refrigerated in corners and capped in silver, red and gold
They gave us free milk at school and it made us sick.
Haunting our ambitions to be on the gravy dripping trip
whitening a way to heaven as blue eyes peer down
upon our inner loathings as we peel the
sweated sheets of white fears off our conscious thoughts.
We roll on beds of agitation and stomachs churn with bile
We are caught between day dreams and grandurs behond the pale.
Across tracks made for iron or chains to pull carriage
shunted life along lines of state roll on rails of ghetto spied fate
Machines can opportunities too menial and tinned for the ignorant of plight.
Beginnings in prisons of want and aspiration skew worths contorting right.
I see me looking back at questions I am not standing in or over.
Seeing that path ahead curves off around a bending nowhere.
Cascading dreams flitter off without focus on directions.
Into traps smeared and sprung cages hold progresses motion captive.
Pressurising pains of failed rewards for tolerance endured
like carbons contained to inevitabilities of crystallised resplendence.
Refracted pain screams unheard entombed in glass for value graded purity
of colour as skin peels within veins like worming shafts.
Casts, cast no differences against backdrops of gloom.
Camouflage conceals a home for shades below where shaded graves protect from suns that rise upon no hope to thrive and flourish.
Savannahs stand abandoned where beasts not hunted graze
as black eyes stalk a coin and swallow meals of white disdain
Rented appendages sap strength and till rewardless lands
As they drag behind us leaving scars and dusty tracks
Gray slaves shuffle after trains long missed to destinations
where energy seeps out of weeping wounds of puss and sin
Understanding sighs a note, the cadence lulls and soothes
that sense which breaks a revolution long before its vision comes.
Meanwhile, in pities pit, those above the them beneath,
perfume onerous stenches as they go about their days smelling not their blames. They see not beneath the soles red painted vanity.
Trending paths lined with good intentions directed on a waypost
where eternally nowhere is the terminus in sight
And where knowing no longer need take purchase.
I remember mucus covered lips of bovine cream
blackness longing not to swallow not to take the whiteness
not to drown in whitened rivers or fall from buttered mounds and mountains that the grateful would show awe for should they know.
I will remember to remind myself of what not to remember.