Published: 30 September 2025

here’s how we get rid of money

First, we build robotic food factories,
then we give food away for free.
Except it will be healthy food
limited sugar, salt, fat, meat. People
will have to learn to cook to make it
taste good, but because of all their
spare time, as a result of not having
to make money to buy food, everyone
will become a very good chef. People
will be weighed when they pick up their
food, and their calorie intake will be determined
according to their body mass index. However,
people will want processed foods, potato chips,
doughnuts, anything deep fried, no matter what.
The only solution to limiting that, will be
make people pay, so that won’t work.

All right, we make love free;
except it’s already free, it’s been free
forever. It’s sex people want and they’ve
always been prepared to pay for that,
and always will, so that won’t work.

I’m all in: we conquer death.
What’s money when you’re immortal?
We become gods, and you know the first
thing gods want is worship, idolatry, blood
sacrifice and anything deep fried, which
someone has to pay for, so we’re right
back to the start, aren’t we? That won’t work.

OK, I’m flat busted, nothing left, no need to escort
me from the table to make room for the players
but, let me leave you with this: perhaps all we
need to do is let those who can, feed themselves
but we can’t ignore the hungry, just so we can
keep the money; and we let everyone who can
own their home, live how they want to live
but no one should sleep on the street, outside
we can manage that; and if people are alone
or need help, perhaps they need more, maybe
support, protection, sometimes money, we
can manage that; because all we need to do
is dig into an endless supply of love, and that’s free.

More Poetry:

Bike Night

Twin beat of tire spokes braid night air
into set of rapids a canoe would fall upon.
Creases of energy propel me deliriously
forward, folds of force comfortable as pillows,
wells of gravity like muscles from beneath.
My legs pound the circle of bicycle pedals
through night soft as sweater, dark, brilliant,
a night when you feel buoyant, lucky

Valour

It’s not about the biggest car.
Not about being first.
About indulging the urge to kill
in the name of privilege and wealth.

Valour defines its arena one way:
deny fate, envisage what should be.

I will swim again

Today, I pretend everything is fine.
The lake is calm, weather hot,
the great blue water stretches
to kiss the wide blue sky uninterrupted,
and the lake beckons,
spreads its arms wide, says,
“Swim with me,
“Remember.”

1,000 lives

1,000 lives.
Each one never perfect,
undone by the weakness of living.
One life as an aesthetic only to hate more.
One life as an addict only to suffer more.

Two painters and Jarret

Jarret is in a Miro
because I say so.
If I had a camera with me
I could prove it.
Look, the lines, squiggles
around him and he looks
a little like a squiggle himself.

electricity of snow

skates crystalline, pass
of sunlight to the corner
zigzag impossible bank shot
direct to rods and cones
eruption of white noise
as light crackles about you

Related

Bike Night

Bike Night

Twin beat of tire spokes braid night air
into set of rapids a canoe would fall upon.
Creases of energy propel me deliriously
forward, folds of force comfortable as pillows,
wells of gravity like muscles from beneath.
My legs pound the circle of bicycle pedals
through night soft as sweater, dark, brilliant,
a night when you feel buoyant, lucky

read more
Valour

Valour

It’s not about the biggest car.
Not about being first.
About indulging the urge to kill
in the name of privilege and wealth.

Valour defines its arena one way:
deny fate, envisage what should be.

read more
I will swim again

I will swim again

Today, I pretend everything is fine.
The lake is calm, weather hot,
the great blue water stretches
to kiss the wide blue sky uninterrupted,
and the lake beckons,
spreads its arms wide, says,
“Swim with me,
“Remember.”

read more

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