Post-Modern Blues
Been digging my heart. Into any art. I can get my.
Hands on late-ly
Been feeling
rough and down and
Filled with fluff, incorrigible clouds, imperfect
like a do-pa-mine addicted white rat on his cheese
Meat, wine, and sugar, cigarettes not far behind, in pursuit of
Instant
grat-ification
With colloquially shy eloquence, has been
ponti-Ficated
All into my net code, unconscious of its
pulisic undertones into my hormonal zones
Pugilistic punches to my life goals, but the now
Is the only time nowadays
If I start off with a rush,
(Instagram? More like Instagrat
producing nothing but Insta-brats)
Then the boring stuff, I’ll never get to
It takes me about two
Weeks (I’m about) to get back on track
Procrastinated leeches time off on my back
Laches be damned!
I wish I was lying
But the mental re-
Sistance, by its insistence, has me slowly dying
Of being away from being
The big death
Stripping away my wholeness
Of the obscene unseen
How can you garner connection to the source
When ****
Is just a click away?
Wifi highways garnishing reality away from His gaze
It's amazing if anyone gets anything done nowadays
I don’t think I have to ask my parents any-
Thing, the thing is they’ll just
Say just google
It
But google can’t tell you
How to be a man
Or
How to fight
Or (hey siri)
how do you open a can of brew on a cold and lonely night
When you feel subdued by the pressure to be
More than who you are?
Since what has humanity sacrificed to come this far?
To play with
The stars?
The cars?
The gold bars?
It’s no use if your heart is still blacker than tar.
So I’ve been trying hard to find the cure to the
Curare
Of post-modern solipsisms and soires
Through some good ole fashioned art
You can’t buy that nowadays
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment