It turns out to be a familiar
struggle. Cold purity has its allure.
The single erotic curve across white
virgin surfaces; the disconnected
geometry disappearing into
a borderless infinity, away
from love, loss and muddling contingency.
Perfection of form banishes all thoughts
of the normal flawed sure disappointments
carried by failures of observation,
and rivalries of human endeavour.
Money coats the exclusive white on white,
the plain canvas is tasselled with chatter
and green shoots must crack open the surface.
So new means of escape from this waste land
of connection and need are found. Bestride
the world and turn the gaze on Babel’s babbling,
richness the fetish, shock of difference
becomes the place of worship;
only in the discovery of alien gods,
the crowning of neglected resentments
can stifling domesticity ascend
glittering platforms of celebrity.
Money coats the tapestries of travel
and sits above clouds far beyond the dreams
of designer trainers and digital
thumb prints, powder puffing its cheeks with sneers.
Turn again to the pastoral idylls,
watching the evening sun lift the starlings
to exuberant geometries of flight.
Glory in the leaf”s floating fall, the sea’s
rolling rage, and the herd’s mute acceptance.
Hide in the forests from the predator’s
killing looks, from the barbed teeth of friendship,
from the strutting certainties of defeat.
Money coats the pasture, wood and hedgerow
and drives the young off to urban squalor.
The gates are closed to all but gardeners
and domestics, and 4×4’s roll out.
Abstract purity, the exoticism
of the squabbling world, or the backward glance
to the sunlit vales of locality
have to meet modernity’s tidal wave.
For now, sensation and shock may divert,
set out before us on cash filled platters.