Throttled in America (Esoteric Frustrations)

Just a poem I wrote. It has something to do with isolation, solipsism, frustration, consumerism, capitalism, blah-blah.

F*****g for the sake of curses,

I live with my thumbs pressed

against the cartridge that ejects

into the collective consciousness

of our co-morbidity.

 

Frivolous death-wishes

into the blundering eternal

godhead of space.

Reveling in carrion,

dances under the shadows

of pagan shrines.

 

Our head polluted to tremble in complicated ways.

Elevated planes of nonchalant deicide

in showers of frozen rain, waiting for

some ponzi-scheme to grace us with

American forms of masturbation.

Author's Note

Constructive criticism? Semi-nice? Happy thoughts are good, too.

Reviews

[The White Wolf]

Constructive criticism: none. Semi-nice: I kind of like your poem, a lot. Happy thought: kittens pouncing through flower fields on a sunny spring afternoon.
Review: Bloody brilliant!

[Michael]

lot of rebellious frustration at the pollution underlying the vapid and pointless. i enjoy it

[Joshua David Vrana]

it's good, it seams angry