"The Labelmakers, a frozen moment in an Indian sweatshop, is an old-fashioned masterpiece of clarity and staging, and in the Unfortunate Incident it is with exquisite judgement that he extends the tension of the thinly lined composition over a canvas 15 feet long"
Who are the Labelmakers?
Answers on a postcard,
Winners will be informed at a later date,
Losers just have to live with it,
Out of sight out of mind,
Some consolation for those unlucky souls.
Just remember,we are all winners
In our own way.
Peace and love,
Until next time,
And remember chumps,
Never say never.
We care so you can care less,
Actually we couldn't care less so you care more.
Always include a stamped addressed envelope.
No O.A.Ps or under sixty fives.
Terms and conditions apply...
An Empty Birdcage Harmony
It fell onto then through us,
It passed us by,
knowing and not knowing
Ourselves, as we do.
Fluid form, fugitive colour,
Oblong light, green shadow make.
Out of thought shape, mimic action explain.
Cold cloth that sticks, wet flat feet rain down,
Maintain too late indeed and you're gone again.
From unintelligible tangent towers,
They bellow into space agitate.
What made Manmademan?
What made Manmademan so?
Dark form amass,
Deaf to heartfelt longing,
Mute to confused belonging,
Drained patterned people rain.
Blue air bags puff out red harmonies,
A yellow skinned night in a violet hurry.
Catchin raindrops the petal child,
Brown skin, pink dress, black hair.
Inking plain wordless of empty space detain,
Waterfalls the unchained thought.
Ink stained and stuck together,
A message to the conceit ground,
No message from treetops.
Caramelised than turned to acid,
Pantomime verse ground between their teeth,
Broken longface under umbrella pain passed,
What made them so we were not made to ask.
Dry possibly where did your kindness go?
Lost along curb river flow?
Trodden in under wet floor stride?
Of dazed grey days, that seem to last too long,
Out loud this time I ask.
What made Manmademan?
What makes Manmademan so low?
The floral patterns on which we were meant to sit,
Bound and drowned our collective preciousness.
With sagging faith our upholstered race,
Soured time in a graceless embrace.
In subterranean meantime all,
The aquarium mass, was said and done.
Just another Empty Birdcage Harmony.