I could tell you
Humanity is fucked.
That an extinction level event is a thing
We may see before we see our children’s children be.
Sometimes I pray for our extinction
I would beautifully explode, taking all of us
And it would be worth the price of the last admission.
The unwashed huddled starving desperate masses think politics
And TV news and fights are about them
Little things are tossed at them reluctantly, hushpuppies to sled dogs
Small mercies smuggled into fine print by a few, who give a shit enough
To hide them in an infinity of rotting pork
While fatcat smug suspendered reapers give the elbow, side-eye
Wink wink, smirk and nudge nudge.
And we think we’re comets, crazy stars with possibilities
The forefathers promised us, but worried secretly, so much doubt
About the human sky, we think it’s up
And don’t look down where possibilities go
The actual sky instead, some imagination there
We watch, not knowing that it is not what we think that we might see
Aliens or dystopian postapocalyptic fantasies that movies weave
Those themes might not turn out better, but at least differently
Pieces of thoughts that aliens and designer diseases and EMP’s
Might bring a world where fighting, honor and strength might matter again
We are imagining disasters that might change something
Because we can’t handle the truth of infinite lies.
Things down here are always worse and stranger than we thought.
The news is real.
Reality is fake,
And terrifying if you look into it
Like the abyss that looks back into you, and the cynicism you’re fighting
Tangles with the abyss, and breeds hate and rage and despair.
How dare anyone tell the truth of power,
Look into the stagnant murk and rot of too much everything
The throways are unaware, no foundation to understand
Lies, immorality, chortling yachted privilege
Greed, atrocities of mind and deed
Lust for platinum power controlling clutching things
Lust for serfs is so very cheap
Seeking emptiness and numbing pain, but thinking it something else
The lonely, broke, and broken stare at screens of grotesque couplings
Shiny infinite porn: the new opium of the masses
Nervous fingers on a button that hides the screen
Watching fake people having fake sex; the nickel freak show at the circus
But with a happy ending.
Religion was a little better.
The covetousness of the highest castes, paid-for, so-important
A terrifying appetite for more expensive things than money or sex
Souls and lives and steering future history for gain.
A magic show where all the things are stolen
The magician waves the shiny girl and flips the house, and cooks deliciously on TV
And the foolish dream that joining the show could make them someone
When no one understands what someone means.
Tenements left so lethal that the land will be ripe for shiny towers soon
The sweating, scorned, and feared child soldiers make
Distraction, an immediate fear that turns heads anywhere but up
Swaggering bullet holes suck anger into places, except where anger should be sent
The sad tiny creatures scrabble, make warring villages that shouldn’t be
Between colors in shades of suspicion, to distract, and
Oil and grease the wealthy’s sanction of inner city war
Failure Castes our country swears it doesn’t have.
The new American dream is a Wreck and a Check,
A spin of a wheel and the transfixing banging bouncing ping-pong balls
More dreams: frantic scratching silver wax on cardboard in bodegas
Gambling, a tax on those who can’t do math.
An unlucky break, a death, blame the tired docs
Who couldn’t stop the will of any god, makes them
Cough up from coffers they haven’t had for years and years, and
Deep pockets of no-shitgiving insurance
Run by yachts and James Bond cars.
The lawyers keep almost all, of course, and live in biggish homes with hopes for bigger
But you might afford a new bass boat, or a shiny new TV to take your mind away.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas; a poor man’s Vegas
Craves lustful tales of desperate debauchery, frantic to be lame enough for reality TV
But only your money stays in Vegas; the nightmares follow you home.
There is a Power’s lust for glittering gold, possession and repression
Even the lust is beyond poverty’s imagination
Although the poor swear they can imagine it.
Did you know you can buy a hundred thousand dollar sapphire razor
With free resharpening for life, of course
Sleek shiny conveyances with fins and tails and dual exhausts
Flashy place to flashier place, fast boring anytime sex
Where the only price paid by the rich for whores and pretty stuff
Are the hopes of the aspiring clutching underbelly
Grabbing on coattails of fame, or shiny new wealth, star-fucking
It is said that things are only given to those who could buy them easily.
Despite the desperate hopes of the empty wallets day to day
It is not virtue and hard work, but monsters who have all the things
Who are taking more, despite having all of it already.
Screwing over those already screwed
Nailing them to jobs where you actually have to work, and pay for the privilege
Of having no privilege and often no work, but you still have to pay.
Trapped and terrified and stuck where light is always a train and lortabs slow it down
And taxes and taxes and cigarettes by the case and cheap beer with a tinny taste
While real yachts and swinging flapper beads and artful fleeting ice swans are
But only in movies do the tragic cannon fodder see
Through a wavy looking glass, opulence more real than film can capture and display
Where true wealth and power are worth a thousand words.
No, a million words.
A million moving pictures.
A billion dollars.
But that would be irrelevant.