Rubicon

I grow too comfortable alone.

I put the world to my back, staring out
across pond and field watching dragonflies
and migratory water birds going on living, but
the noise of the world still attacks my sense,
fills me with the most terribly anxious feeling
that I will be invaded soon by a lift-kit
and shirtless slip-tank, sunglasses and giggling
short shorts with bikini tops emphasizing curves
that cloud any view of the soul; supermodel world
run amok with Jersey Shore ambition of superficiality
because the best doors open wide only for the beautiful ones,
the loudest, the brashest, the ones who worship
self before all else making narcissism and luxury
have tangible value and all I want to do is shed
this skin to become part of the real world that's
been around for a couple billion years instead
of being a piece of the flash-in-pan spectacle
everyone seems content to lie about through
complicity and lack of vision.  Condemnation is hard
to come by when there's no other way to be,
generations of knowledge forgotten by google
search relevance and data mining, laser-precision
advertisements selling everything one never needs,
but goddamn if air conditioning isn't the greatest
invention to make global warming more bearable.

Go home and mind your business rabble rousing naysayer,
if it bothers you so much build your life differently,
but the chains rattle every time I try to move
and there are not enough dollar bills inside
the multi-tiered interest savings accounts to buy the keys
which have nothing to do with purchasing things
insomuch as trying to recover a naturality lost
to time and decadence; and let's not forget the Taxman
who owns every scrap of existence, ready to displace
anyone who doesn't reattach their own rusty shackles
for the endless greater good of the common collective.
Honest men are hard to come by, working all the daylight
out of themselves so there's no fight left for those chains,
deadening the wild from their eyes like gorilla in zoo -
I'll have to check my day planner to see if I can squeeze
a moment of reflection to go with this bitterness.
It's easy to judge when you've completely embraced
your salary and pension, stock options and credit cards,
or at least the dreams of attaining that life.
Security is a shining lure, the hook has been in your mouth so long
you believe it to be a part of your natural being, grown in the womb
and fervent vehemence is the consequence of being challenged,
that maybe your security has it wrong, and that will
always be the most horrific realization you can have,
because belief and ego have copulated to give birth to everything.

Maybe we're all afraid of the fact that there is no alternative,
not one that includes electrons, plastic and television
get in a huff and yell hypocrite at me all you want,
I'm well aware of my contribution to the problems - they underscore
the whole point of writing out something to quell the conflict
which tears me apart every time a light switch looks at me wrong.
You can throw those rocks at me all you like,
my skin has become calloused from the work I do
walking the edges of this box constantly, sliding my body
along the walls looking for a crack big enough to squeeze through,
falling exhausted into bed with a cold woman who's unconcerned
whether I'm there or not, wishing for her own kind of death
because she can't articulate that same hopelessness within her.
I stare into corners observing how ready to collapse
the rotten foundation is that we're trapped in, patient
for a zombie apocalypse we're subconsciously using as the
metaphor for the breakdown of it all.  Bring around survivalism,
shut off the power for a couple years, watch the devolution come,
I'm hardened already by my attempts to escape
and that will be useful while you're still coming to terms
with security lost, hesitating to move because that pile of gold
still gleams and whispers that it's worth something.  
But it's all just dreams of a life I believe in, our identical defect,
hoping for that which may not come, a potential future.
I see cracks and you see business as usual, our perceptions split.

Let's hope you're right.  We crossed the Rubicon before our birth.

Author's Note

Is it a poem? Is it a weird little rant? Is it... IT'S WRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNDOOOOOOOOOM MAAAAAAAAAN!

Reviews

[Ghost of Jupiter]

you just might be my new found favorite...yeah that's it.

[tekphobik]

Sweet. I'm nobody's favourite right now.

[Ghost of Jupiter]

:-)

[MOON]

This is stunningly accurate , not a rant scratching the surface finding it rotten underneath. So many lyrical thought provoking lines. We crossed the rubicon before our birth , beautifully said.

[Kenneth The Poet]

Again, another blistering piece. You make me take notice, now what about Dylan and Seeger?

[thisis2]

Too comfortable alone.

[_mal]

F**k, it's awesome. So cutting in places, the way you've written this will make people listen. That third stanza was painful, I like the contrast between each. I think the reason this piece has no reviews is because you've shut everyone up

[tekphobik]

Nope. The reason nobody reviews my writing is because I refuse to who're it out with requests and by playing all social on the site. Generally reviews 'round these parts are people jerking each other off with that whole "everything is amazing because everyone is special" +rainbows+unicorns+blahblah. Annnnd, it probably doesn't help that I mostly review other people's work drunk and am borderline abrasive. I reined it in on my negativity towards crappy poems a while ago because my own rating dropped precipitously when I was honest on how terrible some pieces were. Now I try not to play with others and instead just write for me. This site is being used as a backup archive mostly.

[_mal]

Haha, whatever man. Personally I usually leave good reviews, only because I review what I like rather than what I don't like. I know where you're coming from though. Pull your head out