Saturday, July 7, 2012

Walking Sticks

Our subconscious bristles of sabotage, ankles deep in the tar pits
This media detritus smothering us terribly, as this humidity does
Cultural hypnosis, everywhere we look, on the loci, we lose focus
Never touch the subway pole, cause its covered in mania and regret
Hand sanitizer; don’t ever, take the crazy off our hands, so stop smearing it
All these, drugged eyes, peering past us, into a faraway-faux-land-in-the-background
Been to every crevice in our minds, every new advance, a new way to waste time
Satisfied, with a lick of the affluence, at least we can smell the cornucopia
The road seldom traveled, is filled with hitchhikers, with walking sticks
Food prices skyrocketing, trying to water our optimism with drool
Why build the passages, traveled by only the mute fools of conceit

Clasped in the Paw of a Future Rat

I remember that I have
always been good at finding these
Large crowds, which march
with banner and hands aloft
I always find life in the chants
Defiance was my first toy

Lately, everything is poison,
which I find leaves little to desire
Everything tastes
like this 
quiet and silent death
My pillow is a ventriloquist
for almost dead people
Or at least an evil fuck

What about the living things,
which can’t find me
within this concrete and steel?
I stand, as usual,
on the other side of the valley,
just out of earshot of my totem

Where I am one of the
self-appointed rangers
of the urban sprawl
Lean on the illusionary walls
My tool belt is,
well worn and faded
With dry spatter
of everyone's blood

While feeling this weariness
of assisting in the erection 
of these complex conduits
Among the diligence
of maintenance of the foundation
I found our future
clasped in the paws of
the city rats

Which, when I unrolled,
each said, nothing memorable
Only a time capsuled narcissism
of egotistical nostalgia
Each had a detailed picture
drawn of a 
empty face
With the underlined word
scrawled in pencil underneath

When driving pillars
for the next corridor
I met a future rat
Who had a encrypted note
in his paw that I 
can't read, but at least
I know in the future
There are still rats
who use the channels
We built by our hands