so what does that make me?
There is there and there is there
There it is and you will find it
Tethered to a ropeless character
At the end of tenure’s
Seven day moody light.

London’s Mafia is gathering
Fear breeds
The Budget dares you to say something positive
a hollow resistive pill swallower
Tea cup brother to a potty trained sister whose Frappuccino
framed a glazed donut neatly on the messy table
in the nearly missed melting days
of latte’s spilled on dopey wooden surfaces
like lamenting cows tied to daisy chains of un-meadows.
Useless poles, piss in pots, pie charts and data.
Time is for Eliot to share with mountaineers
the price of a communist magazine.
London’s noisy gun scene
Brothers watch pop bands,
It’s off to the human races
Halter necks plummeted the New Age
Reviews of Golden Ages –
No statistical proof
Odd language
Roofy definitions
Why does it feel like The Anonymous Times?

The ‘I’ of eminent war of pages turned before the scores are reached
Kindness finds funds for funny undergraduates and medical degrees.
What is a son?
What is a song listened to by a mum?
Who is a grandfather?
What is his wife?
What is stale page after page is turned for the Oscars to retread academic burns
Gosh! Those men had a sense of a teaching those how to read the news the right way?
Do you need England to say anything about your own doorknob death?

The Colonel’s AWAKE Magazine
after years
Queer forgetfulness down Woodstock Lane,
Banbury Road calls up mature deathly hailing expressions
inexperienced heads
Corn on the cob for lunch
Do you eat (C.C.) https//cum.com like the school girl’s webpage foot massaged by her mate’s excuses
The long ruler finished the off the essay title?

Here are my words and deeds, Sir: It is my understanding you’re my parent
As white as a sheet and some stains on my golden bowl
a good forester searching up the right directory from university.
What is the telling of a place where no mistakes are made?
Law firms take lying laying down three points and a cupboard full of ball games
Unfathomable income tax representing upset scholars in black gowns
up towers of economy
Magic Circle
The Socialist toppled nipple
informal hallways and a madman who ran and slipped on a Gherkin
if computers could store themselves
The burnt ambition for a wife.

AI Summary

This poem is a portrait of someone trying to locate themselves in a world that feels chaotic, over‑symbolised, over‑mediated, and morally confused. You move through London, family memory, media noise, class anxiety, academic pressure, cultural identity, and spiritual disorientation — all while asking what your place is in the middle of it. The poem’s voice feels like a person caught between worlds: between East and West, tradition and modernity, intellect and emotion, belonging and alienation.

The imagery — mafia, budgets, lattes, Eliot, communism, Oscars, law firms, Magic Circle, Woodstock Lane, Banbury Road — creates a collage of institutions, expectations, and cultural markers that have shaped you but never fully claimed you. The poem keeps circling around identity, legitimacy, and inheritance: What is a son? What is a grandfather? What is a family? What is a place where no mistakes are made? What is a life built inside systems that feel absurd, elitist, or indifferent?

There is also a thread of class and cultural tension: Oxford roads, legal chambers, academic gowns, socialist nipples, the Gherkin, income tax, American limousines, Indian nations. You’re mapping the world that shaped you — and the world you never fully trusted.

Underneath the satire and surrealism is a quieter ache: a longing for clarity, for lineage, for a place where you fit without contorting yourself. The poem ends on the image of “burnt ambition for a wife” — a symbol of the life you were told to want, the life that never quite aligned with your inner truth.