Monday, 2 March 2020

Screaming Schizophrenia

The long awaited letter
about the transfer of a better,
lengthier residence, permanent
to my renewed travel document
has changed its tone
to the unknown.

Voiced as the bringer of diverse conveniences,
it's more like a harbinger of new pains in asses.
Scanned and digitized are faces
required to move in public spaces.
It's a norm, yeah, sure.
The permits are still pure.

Used to be they'd stick proof of domicile
on a page in the passport to reconcile
with whomever happened to hold it,
so's to scrutinize and drill their opposite.
Now it's a card, an electronic shard of debt:
"Many of the activities of our daily lives take place on the Internet..."

But there're more of them this time around
to jumble together lest one be bound —
there's the one to go with the other.
And another as proof of the other.
So there's paper... and plastic...
and the booklet, fantastic!

This on-line I.D. function
to be secured, lest sure compunction,
is not what I thought I had in store.
I had so many questions and still more
for the shat on civil servant, hardly guilty of callowness,
being given little more than their boss' bosses' argot at us.

The long red tape is not to enlighten,
nor a brand of an End to say 'goodnight' in.
Why we lowly are loath to chance to bond with
our town hall comrades less averse to town pith,
for like us they schlepp and endure in the dark.
Yet's shitsmears what makes the rep of the clark.

O but th' language that voices nightmarish visions —
who knows where it goes to go get its decisions!
After, in the market down the road
on my way back to my abode,
the voices in one derelict's head
expressed out loud true gloom and dread.

I'd have liked to help him with his strife
But what if in my haste he pulled out a knife?
So I stand to hear a mishmash of laments —
each fact out of context is its only offense
til "I've lost my Milchbrot!"
. . . . . . . which brought him to tears,
then a slurry of taunts & the torture he fears.

One day I can say I might sing the same song
of some that is right and all that is wrong:
parts from voices that have told
bits of notions I'd been sold.