Paul A Green


The machines living on/in
my nano-memoires of noir
are a mere jungle of dendrites

But the mummy of memory
makes it all better
in this commune of bombardiering

Bussed in past the Hate Bars
and the hottest green neon flicks
or locked onto cells of messaging

I/we/you/they/the whoever
driven by the hotter pedals of marketeering
career parabolics here we go

Data-mining himbos to sell body armour
the generals are generalising their genre
and playing with our genitals yikes

Sky flattens us all
with ludic clouds
beware the iron bollock descending