Ad Infinitum

Resist this – cold, concrete ground beneath your feet.

The clickety clack, clickety clack
resound through city streets.

You – are the bought and sold,
led to wander endlessly around,
peering in shop windows for a glimpse of  yourself.

Forever looking for the perfect dress
with perfect pleats, the perfect breasts,
the perfect teeth;

pristine on first impression, but neither real, nor unique.

This sense of pure perfection
is mere pretension that you seek,
it is empty and oblique.

As you search in hurried silence
you will be ad infinitum,
always one item
out of reach.


Photograph by Thomas Leuthard

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Lucas Howard

When I was seven I started copying poems out of a book and telling people they were mine. When I ran out of good ones to copy, I had to start writing my own. I have been performing and organising nights on the UK spoken word scene now for over seven years and am most of the way through writing the first draft of my first novel 'Zedlist', which is serialised on here. As the story is in fetal form, any critiques or suggestions are most welcome.

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