scratching
off a win for life, outside the documentation bureau
all
lives not fit for pages
are
bits of magnets
coded
for storage and
they
are in huddled masses
they
are milling about
in
elastic moans
disguised
as pop culture attachment
they
cry plastic
coating
onto everything
a
drip melt burn sound
electricity
is rampant
running
beyond wires
rifling
pockets
of
an icy sky
night
climbs down
to
paint the trees
frosting
every window it can
like
our shaved down metal dreams
that
reveal who we are
scratching
madly
at
the surface of things
finding
nothing remains
of
our once bright humanity
chance
lotteries are sold
subscription
style
to
keep the lines roped
and
somewhat maintained
some
groups head off
into
the wilderness
now
and again
they
are written off
as
not quite right
marginalized
nebbishes
of
why mankind
is
a diminished royalty
it
is their will that is tamed
by
going into what is left of the forests
as
much as the self banishment
serves
the greater good
of
modernity’s bottom fed life
the
anointed tops of society
have
long since pushed
through
the clouds and
no
longer wonder sometimes
if
there is any rabble rousing
in
our over-populated world
stripped
down of its intelligence
and
compassion
in
a cruel slow siphon bleed
would
we still be dousing hope
by
the second
would
we have every eye still peering
and
every neck still craning
to
find something to have
and
to hold as our own
what
is it that makes us believe
that
someday, something
will
fall down
from
the diamond cut time
that
masquerades as stars
to
make sense of it all
you
see
everybody
wishes
for
something
down
here
everybody
wants
a
controllable future
because
everybody
just
might have
lost
their way
as
we the people
have
always needed
someone
to blame
in
our brave new worlds
something
to fill each second
that
remains
in
the hisses and whorls
of
countdown clock symphonies
we
keep turning
the
dial between
the
stations left on the radio
trying
to find music again
for
we have long since realized
that
we might not know
how
to wield
an
arrow of time
into
a song anymore
we
might not know
how
to draw back
the
bow of destiny
strung
tautly with free will
to
let love lead beyond
the
touch of skin and bones
to
where our spirits reside
like the calendars we watch
hardening our resolve
to continue admiring
ourselves, in the mirror
EJR
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