Post World

Another dissonant symphony, arrogant soliloquy, 
From the conquerors of homogenized pseudo-literacy,
Don’t roll your blind eyes at me, menagerie, 
With your unimpressed, hyper-obsessed, self-repressed sordid pleas.

Poor neurotic pampered pets, 
Fingers primed to post, with staged sincerity, every aspect of outrage before the feed refreshes,
Burying the burden of your cross under the oblivion of your emotional-support platform

Babblers of blurry speech, 
Drunk on organic, commercially-grown, boutique drinks, 
Donned in homegrown chemical-free cotton, twilled by the nimble fingers of foreign ladies and children whose lives are the horror show of dreams.

Chemically enlightened brain child, a practitioner of all the greats–Jane, Molly, Xany, Nil, Lucy
Make sure to cue the montage, set to the latest playlist of doe ray me, me, me, me, me! 
Forever center stage, playing the role of every actor–he, him, her, it, they, them, panda, zir 
Recapitulating what so many years and voices tried to kill. 
Dying to check any other box not on the list

But the more it is less, the stronger the desire to sublimate sanity...with infamy, plagiary, piracy, impotency, debauchery…whatever dulls the sense of boredom.

One could let such trifles melt and puddle, and converge with the status quo, 
     One could… 

But to see instead, if eyes are still intact, 
     if poems can move without feet,
That these ineffectual heads have grown fat and slow on luxury.
Then maybe, there’s still a chance to evolve higher than these ketamine dreams allow.
Passed our cliched childhood trauma, with our crucified shame, 
and genderized, colonized enslavement of every piece of what we are that makes us great and real.

Maybe, we can recover from the terminal uniqueness of individuality,  
     for something greater, together. 
          Maybe…

If only we still existed.