Coining Phases

We’re supposed to be holding power to account.

But we’re hoarding power in our current account.

Placated with pewter penny pieces.

Tokens, little more than gestures.


We’re being flipped the bird as we flip the coin.

Decisions and outcomes decided

by metal images of the queen.

It’s fucking obscene.


Her Majesties Revenue & Customs.

Her Majesties Prisons.

Her Majesties Armed Forces.

Her Majesty isn’t majestical.

It’s a magical mask over a load of testicles.


We’re strong armed into a love of power.

We should be sprinting to the power of love.

Love of craft,

Love of art,

Love of a person,

Love of Love.


But it’s just lust.

No more trust.

Our bodies trussed.

Even though we’ve sussed

Out the ruse.


But we choose

not to out ourselves

as moneyqueer,

and live in financial fear.


We shouldn’t make money our cum

cos that ain’t love, it’s zero sum.


We pray to each other.

We pray for each other.

We shouldn’t prey

on each other.


Biting our own heads off

after we fuck ourselves over.

Mantis-like monetary masturbation.

Mannish-like momentary mastication.

As we chew over

those we do over.


Starting from scratch card

cos life is a gamble.

Let’s coin a new phase,

Print a new face,

Reinvent this place,

and enjoy the taste

of a humane race.

In a good humoured space,

No more queens face.


No more stamps of authority.

No more 1st and 2nd class

to lick from the floor.

Fight for the right to parle.


No more tricks meant for the parlour.

No more tricks of parliament,

Our ability for choice is heaven sent

but after 17 we’re spent.


When we grow up

and get grown in,

self-reflection becomes sin

and we birth our own twin.

A shadow of ourselves

wrapped in a prior self.


The priory is a cell

holding us back.


Hold me back,

cos I’m on the attack

and it’s tacky

cos it’ll stick like glue.


Prophylactic

for the proletariat.

Cos greed is a socially transmitted disease.

we’re told the market made us freed,

but the range of the roost

needs a boost.


The signal

seems singular

a teeming singularity

creating animosity.


We scream the call of the first world country

‘but what about me?’


What about you?!


What about we?


Take off your white picket glasses

and really see.

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