Although, on that 23rd of March,

Britain’s ‘lockdown’, in

truth, was not completely lifted,

Lo and behold, refreshed air was soon to be gifted,


They must’ve been wondering,

‘Had the previous generation changed the locks’, it’d been so long,

But they found each other’s voices,

Well, why else sing?

Their silence was ours, choices locked in,

the polluting din,

the as of yet unresolved twin revolutions,

of profit-sized, accumulating burning,

debt financialised,

funding futures yet returning, time to an earth before birdsong,

before birdsong fulfilled the quality of air,

and time became the turning of

a care-free, non-essential workerless key,


Chirpy chirpy cheep cheep,

Chirpy chirpy cheep cheep,

cheap, cheap,

Cheaper cheaper, cheaper still,

still quiet gone,

still hope is just waiting,

as grief flies, in the face of rescued drenched orphans elicit an aghast surprise,

When the cameras close in and the viewers realise,

those pimples, fake, a disguise,

their shifting surface,

a multitude of buzzing hairy


Good grief flies, being served as canapés,

from silver platters,

at shareholder’s partés,

celebrating the market’s highs on the still warm fumes,

from the shit that rise to the surface of,

whose drinking water supplies grief flies fornicating in the silence,

that buys time for the business-as-usual governance,

the big silence,

behind the lip servicing appearance that they give a shit,

‘Faeces’, pardon? They say ‘faeces’ we say species,

Species Faeces faeces species,

Let’s call the whole thing,

An asteroid collision re-enacted in seismic slow motion,

of systemic combustion, upon ignition,

for the extraction of living,

Lives debts for collection,

Black Lives matter in the energy mix,

the capitalist fix, of what was not broken,

until inhuman acts upon inhumane acts,

Ad finitum,

still accumulating in the token, of time,

Crime paying money,

Chirpy chirpy cheep, cheep,

cheap grief flies,

on the surface of the corporate washed body of white lies,

in the disembalming warmth of the sun,

lick the tic toxic time,

that across the face of the earth has become,



err, charming,


the green house Class effect, molecules in death fuels,

capitalism’s respect,

the bottom line,


into Life time,


with a junkie like acuity to feed the disembodied cruelty, of money’s habit,

cause moneys got to have it,

moneys got to have it so bad, it’s unreal money.

Chirpy chirpy cheep cheep cheap, cheap

Cheaper cheaper, cheaper still,

still grief flies are laying their eggs in the still hope that lies to the pit of your stomach,

a deception of the self-same guts from which emanates

the no ifs and no buts of love’s labour’s found

in their look in your eyes,

those for whom you would,

heaven and earth move that they should realise,

the haven of self-assured adulthood,

whole, secure, replete,

So, what is with this incubating stillness,

this waiting, this untilness?


the law of conspiracy applies to gatherings of more than

two persons discussing the future,

and one of them has tears in their eyes?


A line is crossed,

and enough people like you every day are lost to the climate’s rancorous rages?


the big silence of this age is,

interpreted, and printed,

on all the front pages?

‘Read all about it’, ‘Read all about it,’

the compliance, to the business-as-usual governance,

A silence, with a density of consequence,

without comparison or precedent,

this silence at the heart of business-as-government,

did it begin with gold, as flesh and blood dispossessed, without a life, transported, sold?

With just a life jacket, smuggled in the ‘without a life’ racket,


until there’s a sign … in the skies?


Ultrasound scans begin to pick up fears behind their eyes?

along with those tiny toes and hands,


in the meantime, becomes their time,

While ‘all the while’ whiles its way to become their children’s now,

their now is yours,



   Civilisations, with genocidal foundations, do not last for a thousand years, unless we let them.