A Long History Of Time

so this about that great British invention known to some as Life In Death In Life
but known to most as
queueing

so this is either called
A Pretty Paltry Portion Of The Possible

or
Absence Makes The Heart Grow Smaller

or
A Long History Of Time

or
The Day Stretched Itself Very Very Thin,

Wrapped Itself Around Itself And Slowly

Suffocated Itself To Death

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we should we could we might we quite we shan’t we can’t we won’t we don’t we haven’t … wakey wakey …shirkers of the world unite… we have nothing to lose but our dreams

I had been hastening to the chastening, to the line-up, had been hurrying to get here and stop, to get here and not … for we are knot … are knot… are knotted knots strung numberless on a slackly strung string…

I’d only been in the line-up twenty minutes and I was already outside the normal laws governing time and space…

this is a life spuh… a life spuh …a life spent, a life spent, on in by and at… tills counters gates and doors, bars streets shops and floors, levels platforms lines and trains, boats ropes signs and planes

we are stuck … stuck … stuck fast …we are stocked we are stacked we are tied last… we are winnowed minnows all callow and shallow, we are locked we are stocked and we are barrenly fallow… we are run, we are done, we are undundant, we are undone, we are un

I’d only been in the line-up twenty minutes and I was already outside the normal laws governing time and space… I was beyond newton, beyond einstein, beyond particle, beyond wave

I once was free, but now I’m blind…. excuse me, do you mind, no I don’t mind at all … I’ve stopped minding, cos having a mind, like thinking, like any kind of cerebral activity whatsoever, only makes the whole bleedin awful bleedin experience even bleedin worse

we should we could we might we quite we shan’t we can’t we won’t we don’t we haven’t … tills counters gates and doors, bars streets shops and floors, levels platforms lines and trains, boats ropes signs and planes …take a ticket get a number sit down… we are boiled sterile and then trained docile, we are luh-luh-learning to sluh-sluh-slow, to not-not not-not-not-not-not not-not-not-not-not not go …we are drained brains strained in vain, are waferthin paperskin a-withering in the dithering…are wrought and wrenched, clutched and clenched, blanched beached bleached and blenched…

in the conspiracy of all conspiracies we are the plot that couldn’t be bothered to happen yet lining up to get a form to fill in so it might go to lunch

we are the spoon-fed the force-fed and the funnel-fed …are steered clear of life by the rule the role the route the rote, by more of the lore of the before of yore, by more of the lore of the before of yore

it got too late too early… and I was beyond particle, beyond wave, I was beyond black holes, beyond superstring, beyond anti-matter, beyond dark matter, I was in a new and wholly unecessary parallel dimension where unseen forces of attraction and repulsion held us unbonded together, I was in a reverse universe of no-matter

… the sound track is grey noise, and we are edging forward with half-baked ploys, are women become girls, men become boys…we are voiceless we are choiceless… we are stitches unravelled, are rock become gravel… stop stop stop before you start me, for we are forming the joyless party … we have drunk deep of diluted sedative, we have stopped stopped stopping making a triple negative

this is all of me, in single file, shrinking myself to fit… for a full-grown human cannot squeeze through the eye of a queue … so this is me, bruntless and fackless… the munt the frack and the biddle

in the meantime, the very mean time … we are monads without gonads, are plainly born of cloning, are the fleshflopping fillets of a protracted deboning… I am spasmer, bloodless plasma, I am twitcher ticcer blipper blurter and jerker, I’m method-acting for a new career as a bank worker

I hate queueing… the main reason I don’t own a car is road rage … I mean I get road rage in the supermarket, I get road rage in the ATM queue… I get road rage just looking at pigeons …pigeons … their strutting pop-eyed stupidity … pigeons…their inevitable DNA-set bobble… pigeons

and then I watch the ducks on the water of leith and I think, a duck can only be a duck… I’m glad I’m not a duck… I have vast freedoms not available to your average duck, to any duck … yet, I find myself asking myself, in what ways am I using those freedoms that stem from my not being a duck … which ladies and gentlemen, is the kind of question you expect a poet to be asking, in what ways am I using the freedoms that stem from my not being a duck… but, right here and now, I have to confess I’m not using many of them because here I am…

gleelessly freeless and reliably pliable …am wrought and wrenched, clutched and clenched, blanched beached bleached and blenched …we should we could we might we quite we shan’t we can’t we won’t we don’t we haven’t … tills counters gates and doors, bars streets shops and floors, levels platforms lines and trains, boats ropes signs and planes …

we are another scale on this long dead fish, another segment in this aeon-long millipede of line-up stretching back into the unfathomable mists of squandered time shielding from all accusing eyes the accursed name of the accursed man who invented the accursed queue…

we learnt to wait in the mother’s womb, and we wait patiently to process from room too room, until such time as the next room is the tomb…

wakey wakey, shirkers of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but your screams… you say potato, I say potato, you say castrato, I say castrato… you say horror death nightmare get-me-out-of-here-fast … I say horror death nightmare get-me-out-of-here-faster I am stealing your cab

and we are the emotional droids in this spiritual void… we are shouldbe shouldbe won’t, do-we do-we don’t don’t… shoobee shoobe won’t, do-we do-we don’t don’t… we are shoobee shoobeee won’t, do-we do-we don’t talk to me when I’m sleeping

these words have been lining-up in my throat to be spoken… the line has been orderly… though every word has been suffering from road rage… yet when it comes to their turn to be served …they are, like good british people…polite and passive, meek and tame, anxious and sheepish, abashed and constrained, timid and coy, shy and diffident, demure and submissive, humble and obedient … excuse me, I wonder if you could help me please

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