Arrakin Tragedy

It comes as
A reproduction of some other force
Like a Greek tragedy
where everything is more trouble than it’s worth
a landscape of sand and self-pity
consuming all of the purpose and meaning
dunes that creep along
some sun-scorched landscape
where monuments sit haphazardly
waiting upon the gross from some past charade
going nowhere in particular
conversations deteriorate
into a cheap disclosure
self-advertisement in a cacophony of advertising
laboring voices into an arid scene
like a crowd that never listens, yet wants to be heard
how lopsided this wind-swept landscape is
as we are forced to address ourselves in this way
like some indulgent vanity that we assert value to
like some corrupted conscience that cannot conceive futility
it presses onward into
senses of self-importance without pertinence.
I envision you in some sort of land locked battle-ship
Surrounded by tremendous dunes and debris
‘Who knows when that ship last saw water’?!
and you sit at its helm balking out orders
to a crew who, like yourself, cannot see how nowhere they’re going.
I have come upon this scene
Stumbled upon it like a wraith in the night
And I too, have become land-locked on all sides
as far as the eye can see
this shill of mirage
suggests no sensation
seeks no retribution
and delves beyond the echoes of that which you conceive
a mask that bears the frozen exaggerated expression
this chorus has become redundant
the vengeance of Antigone becomes forgotten
and we are undone in the entropy
rendered amidst the vulgarity
where the sun meets the earth
in a backdrop devoid of nuance
that bears no witness to self-respect
I am compelled to persist
this is not where I meet my end.