Thursday, 21 April 2016

Naïve Brokers of Dead Property

“Femme acrobate [L`acrobate]” (Female acrobat [L`acrobate]) by Pablo Picasso (1930)

On Sunday drive for half an hour
Through chance
Buy access into the world
Of hipster beings parading vintage outwear bought from morning markets
Sold are the bargains called investment
A hallucination in which desire will forever exist
For the same objects
Only something special can cease the case
Wherein boredom is bound to objectify the materialism of what is worn
By the modern walkers
For an embarrassing encounter

Seen is someone familiar selling their father’s clothes, who died from cancer
Just last year, what a bargain
That implies
Flannel shirts are a must
For the weary-budgeted
Information of that nature is better enclosed as secrecy
Or glazed over, by the guilty smiles of the dealer
What a horror sight for the informed, that is
Would it be unethical to interfere with the exchange
Or to walk past pretending oblivion
Bag the clothes anyway

Still technically new when bought
For you for them
The profit is made of trash
In which an oxymoron
Is given life; a new vintage does not sit well on youthful shoulders
Nor the fragrance to give off
The culture of recycling trauma
How dare they trash the heritage
Any obsession is unhealthy
And too rhetorical to come cleanly off the tongue
The shame of stating the obvious