capital is dead labour

on barren soils cloven

for shopping pavements

in to wattled stepping

to deter a wheel chair

as if a movie of death

were situationism lite

under the sidewalks of

a hipster charity lane

upcycling ethos as art

and pathos for mustard

by the artisan brewery

denims and trust funds

washed down after toil

but stuff is not stuff

that alteration frames

for the consuming eyes

even as slipped vowels

come to market accents

so peoples in on dying

fall like matter scars

tissue as living manna

for lecanora esculenta

or stuff of the kinder

who cannot be sold but

who will buy my stolen

roses, my lock of torn

lichens, my sung gripe

let off the city floor

---

Drew Milne’s collected poems, In Darkest Capital, are forthcoming from Carcanet. @GlamFuzz

Illustration by Dan Williams