December 12, 2012

poem 453 of a poem a day for 2012

a telescopic class war in America exemplifies the lies of who lives, who dies

meeting the bore price of the Maya
our souls hole straight through
all the inventions of time as chains
we watch the dead light of stars
pin prick our eyes at night
while calmly clamoring
for more things
for more might
we store hope
in a shadowy boxed life
sustained or gained
or burrowed into little thoughts
and transportation costs
day planner newspapers
map electricity
with wrought guidance wombs
everything is boiled
into bureaucracy
a pulp office therapy
of knees and palms down
open mouths and words
meant to ease the pain
of attaining material wealth
we service the world
here, in America
with an institutional lack
of responsibility toward
the physical aggression
and behavioral modifications
meant to lessen the emotional burden
of bullets over ballots
because we’re aiming the pistols

in the odd warm weather
this December inches closer
to every chicken little
philosophy of end times
sold like pet rocks once were
these must have trinkets
sell nothing that fills us
they tell us nothing
but who to point at
what targeted stars
are wishing on us
to be an empty vessel again
searching for a meaning
beyond security and tall fences


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