Punchline

 

Well-wishes and salutations
satellite-sponsored, blithe exit strategies

Friday night’s love is Monday morning’s apparition

            Airy, vague, illegible haunting

 

Never fully satisfied by looking back

            frustrated memories

            better left forgotten
the past four years
piled under indelible mortality
broken promises, tragedy,
one-dimensional realities have come to be
            all anyone knows.

Hyperlinks and coded mantras
blank eyes, empty minds
dissolving all social consciousness
            all self-concept
            all dignity
                        what little left we had
what say you, dear generation?

 

Sometimes we take for granted
what little time allotted
            individual servings of assumed invincibility.
Half-moon in foggy drought season,
            cigarette accidentally lit on the filter end,
                        bass pumping delusion.

 

Well-wishes and salutations
satellite-sponsored, blithe exit strategies

Friday night decisions are Monday morning catastrophes,

            going through the motions to be seen not  by a critical eye.

 

Fishing for a genuine connection,
            ending up tangled in the wires
            soundtrack - busy tone.

Acceptance only gained by rejection.
Adoration, maybe only by death,
            from someone to act as a sympathetic party

                        (Choice PR move if I ever saw one.)

 

Where are the superheroes now?

            Or are we not worth saving anymore?

Why doesn’t G-d talk directly to anyone but George Bush anymore?

            If he did, would anyone believe it?

(Have his people call my people.)

 

Maybe he has turned his back

On his narcissistic effigy –

            “Is this really my reflection?

              They’re f*****g monsters.”

Misanthropic, arrogant, and drunk is how I always saw him

                                                like Bukowski, only funnier.

 

 

Think of the world as a practical joke.

 

It’s easier to just believe
than to deny,

                  deny,

                         deny.

 

Well-wishes and salutations
satellite-sponsored, blithe exit strategies
Fright night revelations are Monday morning’s epiphanies
            striking, painful, illegible prophecy

                       

played out on a stage of weary excess
and the outcomes thereof.

Three hours left to sleep,

alarm clock colon flashing
punctuating how quickly the minutes fade to dissonance.

 

No exit near in sight
            only blithe exit strategies
            and a world full of expectations.

Reviews

[Adam Greenfield]

I don't know if you know who Ani DiFranco is but I could hear her doing this in spoken word. This had an awesome pace to it, like it pulled you along but still gave you a chance to really comprehend what you were saying. I had to read one or two stanzas over but that's just because I was probably still enjoying the previous one. By the way, love the line "have your people call my people." Perfect placement for humor and a statement. Well written.

[RAWR!]

did you write this?

i really really like it.
there is this rawness in the punching of words.
i cannot really explain it.
thoughts mashed in to perfect order, but still in a unpredictable chaos.

[Tomás Ó C..]

Your good at getting images together... you should try writing in rhyme!!!