Mick Brazel

two joints in kunming

smoking in an alley void and new cameras record the streets blankly
stark and overdressed neon and cess pitted gainst the spring festival
with an indefinite chasm shadow of Mao, Ni hao
but this ain’t Britain
surveillancelot
you d think you were in a police state but..,
if torture were invented yesterday and i was away what would the people say
on my return the chaos i used to see glow will turn rhetorical and retro
a blundering resonating destructive assumption
statue built tall
landmarking consumption
rivers run a wasted hue the water
runs through me to the sea
eventually
like any land i will slide
and we share are we communist
we don’t care are we free
is it work, slavery or subsistence
tempered tarnished tolerant
by the red lantern and grey river
eating grain and pig lungs
as a reminder of the fierce fusion of future and past
standing facing the damn wall and chasing
the scent of culture that wafts along aimlessly now

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