tapped out and emptied
like a soda can a on
sedated friday afternoon
the flies are searching for a feast
and the leaders of domesticated shit
continue to tell us
that everything’s alright

thankfully i don’t have cable
or the satellites
i get my news filtered
third hand
from the toilet of god
and of course it means nothing
to me
i’d rather drink my wine,
watching retro movies,
read my outdated novels,
and play with my anarchic cats
while the rest of the world burns
in it’s own insanity
because
the asylums are now empty
integrated into civil society
and sedated
by network television
and it’s submissive programming
sadly, the sheep argue
about their new shepherd
and convenient medication
is the new god
as pop culture
embraces the warm caress
of simplistic
and satanic slavery

fuck all that
i’d rather be an outdated outsider
alone, educated and indifferent
to the scripted trends that drive
mainstream men

this solitary keyboard
and white screen
offer more freedom
than all the promises
of your celebrity matrix
unattended, i hear the hum
of slow independence
so, gimme one more
uncanny symphony
to break free
of this quiet
destruction
as slow hands
reap sacred ecstasy
and a hundred nervous words
mean more
than a thousand
blissful obscenities