It Goes On and On

Looking at advertisements

In shop windows today –

I saw a young women posing

With tight shorts and brassieres.

I could see the whole world

Trapped in a continuous urge

To procreate, manipulate, on and on.

Suddenly the world is a small place.

We are trapped in this creative spree.

Like a bell that never ever stops ringing,

And you have to go on and on

Answering the door,

Opening it, looking for someone,

Something, over and over.

Only the realisation

There is no one

And nothing there

Eases that search.

As I write this

I realise more description,

Is meaningless.

I am reminded of people

Led to slaughter.and

They went mildly

To their death

Because they would not believe

What was happening around them.

The difficulty

is that as an

Unconscious animal

A human ape,

We move blindly

And unquestioningly.

But we could ask,

What Am I?

Then one begins to see,

As I have recently,

That we are in a

Continuous non-fulfilment,

A record playing over and over,

Or a machine going on and on

Automatically.

But we can ask ourselves

Whether we wish to be trapped.

If that is your wish –

At least enjoy it.

Never go around

With an enormous conscious,

Saying, “Oh, what an awful

Thing I did,

Fucking that wife/husband

Of someon else.”

That way lies

Unbearble Conflict!