Supermarket Aisles 1

By James McIntosh

clutching at strings
tied to worse than aluminium
sighing into empty ears
fumbling with/at electronics
an escort of bloodhounds could not
guide me through the pines
socially exceptionless, yet
calling off the hunt is the same
as dialling for takeaway
aluminium foil encasing hope
a small bag of onion salad
is the bulwark against this
this iconic oubliette
self-contained, throw away the keynote
dash their brains out on the running track
in love with pixels
your pixie avatar resembles
a fog-laden midnight
gas lamps and rippers
I yearn to stalk the cobbles
with my very best magnifying glass
ticking off the wanted posters
rounding corners with/out abandon/ing
principles forged in aluminium
titanic and recyclable
I have drunk from the same can twice before
yet thirst like a pug
is it true to manufacture desires
selling mass-production as home-made?
This is a home-made problem
of breathing problems and back-issues of the heart
an aluminium respiratory system
clean and cheap
this is the top of the range
no strings attached
the heart has a ring-pull instead
open with your fourth finger
metal has a taste
like blood

James works for a healthcare publishing company based in Brighton, UK. Still working on his first novel, he puts off editing by playing guitar and singing in Supermarket and the Red Diamond Dragon Club.

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