April 11, 2013

POEM: Up Yours

where is my why? a gazillion threads hang from the sky. if i latch onto one, will it pull me up into the status-fear of deny? or, burdened with the heavy damp of expectations, snap after a brief, illusory try?

i want to wrangle truth from its cobwebby mangle of maybes. i could strangle the voices from below; the multitudes of platitudes shifting hot air upwards for the lightheaded, bouncing like buoys in a sea of more. the one thread made of gold is so very old, but you can ride it to eternity, they spit and cackle with glee. as if the same were the same, why after why.

gold will break your heart, i hiss into the bleeding well of calamity, where stock brokers play with studied abandon in skanky penthouse freak-shows. it blows my mind that my nephew thinks their sneakers squeak differently.

gold is cold, bitcoin is bitter, fair trade won't work unless Ayn Rand barters better. my why is stolen from the chill that sweeps past my lips, the swill that dribbles from ego-blown fissures. we told them the answer was love, and they laughed as they snapped on the rubber glove. this won't hurt at all.


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