March 23, 2012

poem 94 of a poem a day for 2012



push the television out the window and catch a rise ( a fired-off rant poem)

  
we crash into each other as often as we can to feel ourselves as
often as we can keep becoming random molecules of consciousness 
colliding without direction...we lose all of the senses we have left in the wake of the heat released when we lose our outer electrons of numbing white noise...eventually we block out all the hulking sounds of the rusted dynastic jewels of our conscriptions to our mercantilized world imprisonment...this is where our ears have pooled the silver of our tongues and our humanity stands again at the precipice of a flattened world...all the sea-monsters we can dream of swim in these dark waters...never before has a time in our lives been so rich with circumstances relevant to the special un-branding of ignorance we saddled ourselves with to ride and deride in this modernity…the term news is a truncational illusion and is nothing more than a thinly disguised bulleted list of directions for what will eventually pass as a consensus from those that pay for the ink...the internet is revelatory  is some aspects, in that the lines of communication are always open, though the televised versions of reality push those archetypal yearnings farther inside all of us…the tactics of reverse manumission gives us the false strength of a not-really-secret bomb shelter being built with propaganda and partisan ideology and all the clothes the emperor didn’t want to wear…we think we are safe being tied to our own blind buoy in the middle of the oceans at the edge of the Earth...abstaining from the crippling wet nursing of digital information sometimes is really the only way to go...how is this done in a country that weans the eyes of men on big breasts as both a destination and a feeling of comfort without reservation...turning off the electronic feed bag is a first step in the revolution...we need to be able to hear all the voices outside those prescribed...the Earth speaks on many levels that get washed away inside each 4-hour news-cycle…wake up America its past midnight and the bill is due...Grandma and Grandpa have been tucked away already and the boomers are already shoring up to carve the bones of what they think they know to deserve...wake up America your young are still being eaten alive with a flash-mobbed parade of sensibility of pride and prejudice masquerading as proper social order...why buy...why the need for more stuff...more things...what is it about the televised process that keeps the bleeding from delving into real issue...into real tissue on demand…can we not handle the truth...are we so afraid of an informed electorate that the blood of others and the emptying of  emotions are the only ways to keep us in line...the beauty of life is wasted upon us by our own devices insidiously invented as a boon to convenience and progress for partitioned Edens...thrown upon all of those who choose not to see the beauty between the lines of our lives...running fingers...trying vined lingers when Spring is in the flowering of a tree...colors from a womb so deep and forgiving...why can’t we help but be thankful to be alive...wake up America get out and thrive away from mourning yourself again and again...generation to veneration...thinning too thin...we bullet...we beg...mercy for our sins

EJR ©

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