Zeitgeist

I look for you behind retail parks,

ghost-lit showrooms, in dark

scrubland where plastics flutter on coils

of barbed wire; where, through mean soil

strewn with pipes, cartons, slugged condoms,

streams a steep-edged brook. Drawn

to its burble and splurge

I slip on the verge, fall and splunge

stretching for the banks, reeds, not catching hold

of anything sound, my hands ice-cube cold.

And past megastores, waste yards, the suburbs’ borders,

carried along on colourless waters

ever gushing on, with no smile, no frown,

I call you down, I call you down.

City limits are fine but I spend most

days hemmed in, meshed and lost

up a tower—in front of a screen,

black plastic keyboard, black plastic machine

on a laminate desk—where the windows

won’t open much in case I throw

myself out. Dust gathers on the phone,

empty plant pots. I am alone

much of the time to the extent

that a vague itch of harassment

prickles my contact with people.

And vacuumed through the non-soul

of blank matter, with no smile, no frown,

I call you down, I call you down.

Outside on shopped streets swarm mothers,

alpha males, screenagers, old, young, lovers,

the homeless, the bewildered, ill, unique,

the beautiful with their self-as-boutique—

so many, thronged into one body,

surrounding me, squishing, cumbering me

with sucken hair and grey breath,

a cracked open swallowing mouth.

And looking through a million eyes,

slouching upon a million thighs

compelled by the shackles

of meat-headed instinct to slowly circle

around and around, with no smile, no frown,

I call you down, I call you down.

Inside the machine or, at least, on the screen

I discover everything that has been,

will be, or might never be, has a place.

You can search for God, your name, any face

and reconfigure. You can hurt someone

and they won’t know it was you. There’s a room

for all things, the wall of each room an exit

to all that’s possible, all interconnected

with, as they say, no edge and no centre.

I press enter and enter and enter

not knowing where to go, what I might find

in this flat expanding surveillant mind,

weightless, free floating, with no smile, no frown,

I commune. Then the machine powers down.