Ah, yes. Long. Rambling. Pessimistic. What else do you ever expect of me?
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Holophrastic


The world revolves around these:
the creamy breasts of mothers,
the rusting blood of old soldiers,
the gingerly tasted wine spreading
like a stain into the minds of children.

It is not agony that drives us,
but instead the unattainable silence
and wallowing words of saints and men;
though we cannot always win
it's always worth the try to die.

We fail to discern those melodies
taught to us in those classrooms that
smelled of dust and deflated egos,
the rainbows and wishes of yesterday
forgotten like a sigh's short existence.

The dream of nuclear control is
fed to the starving youth that used to
wait patiently for desolate junkyards -
they will be the ones to perpetuate
this antithetical utopia of smog.

Oxygen is a thing of the past,
dry and discarded as our chess sets
and pain, long-awaited love and death;
everything always ends the same way,
with a final ring of the cracked bell.

If we were to carbon-date a thought,
how long do you think it would last?
It takes less than a second to forget,
to abandon the world around us
and simply feel for life like a blind man.

Surely it cannot hurt to live like this:
Barbie, Ken, and their perfect lives -
a model world, a model hypocrisy,
another reason to build more cars
and elect a mannequin into office.

Pardoning the idiopathy that spreads
without so much as an apology
is commemorable; here is your
self-styled, customized silver plate
in which to spoon jaded stigmas.

Regarding the broken vase, sir -
the one that's etched with your heart -
can we just sweep the pieces
under your collectible tiger-skin rug,
and bill you for our services?

We are a jungle, plastic with
lives unlived and days unseized,
but to make up for that we present
our One Time Only Christmas Sale!
so we can waste ourselves once a year.

On the corner of Mission and 24th
is the child who won spelling bees
back when innocence still elicited love;
now he whores for a lost cause,
a giant vacancy in his teenage chest.

Always we have lived, and always
we will die; To Whom It May Concern,
please don't mess with the system -
it is the only thing we will ever know,
the only air we will ever breathe.


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Cynical much? w00t for anti-Transcendentalism!