Tuesday, November 4, 2014

one more thing

They pour out in rivers of red
And white

the blood and bone of this entity
this endless operation of hustle

spurred into action through want
and need

as though desire granted absolution
like the thunderheads we all wish for
as we wait for the bus

can you not feel the power?
Can you not taste the rage
And the restlessness?

And under these burning skies
And concrete

Their hearts burst with a hunger that never knows reason
Their minds bloom with necessity
And all of it is casual and vain

And all of it is real.

As though some kind of cataclysm could be worse,
the predators that haunt your dreams are powerless
if you don’t sleep.

And the hallucinations of the deprived become manifest
Like a car slipping off the road in some backwood forest 
 That strips you of you innocence, irreversibly
Rending us
In a world governed by the awoken and evil 

And all of it is real.

the consent that cannot even be perceived
In a yearning for some esoteric grandeur

What makes them strong makes them vulnerable
And complacent

the metal and glass, the wire and wood, the resources and networking
give them nothing more than they were born with
and nothing that will make them happier  

it becomes an articulated fantasy
where every aspect is refined into absurdity

And all of it is real. 

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