Accountable tack: that old effaced ideal
lost in how you capitalise on skin
as you swathe in the murk of hyperbole.
‘I’m not a capitalist’ but
look at you coin in those tacky bodies
drenched in sweat, hoarding them
to soothe away the empty boredom .
‘Nice booty’, the antiquated meaning of the word,
denoting your looted pile of valued treasures.
‘Nice booty’: look how we defile beauty
in our greed for vapid pleasures.
Language depleted by surface,
the artifice of modern love -
or modern lovelessness.
those bodies for a net-value,
then net in a few more,
there's nothing like a fresh catch,
a fresh match on tinder: that glorified
meat picking market.
Exchange and alienate, Schumpeter echoes
'creative destruction': God you're an artist
if destruction is creative and
a rich one too with all those bodies, all that
rump steak booty, nice ass, inches and inches
to measure your worth by.
Minutes commit genocide in the hump -
thumpeddy of headboard on the wall:
the force of desire -
if you can even call it that.
Seems more like a cure to me.
Hot, sticky coagulations of limbs
as you fuse together like hot blood and
then lie there in congealed coldness.
Motionless in the moonbeams, you lie weighted
with all that thoughtless predation.
One body is too heavy to bear,
four is much lighter; less accountability,
More tactility and lustful agility that way.
Less tact though; messy business.
Must be tiring.
Tactlessness takes work and my
god you work hard at your day job;
working that body of yours like a
One body is too heavy to bear
because in having one you hold a soul at night
not just multitudes of ribs and skin.
Its always much easier to have too much
than to simply have enough.
Satisfaction is a heavy business, a tricky art
but you, my little capitalist, will always
acquire and always desire a little more
until you look into the riches you’ve
accumulated to realise
the worthless splendour of it all.
So big spender, give it some thought -
or would that be risking too much?