Dealing Escapism

God is the ultimate drug

I don’t do drugs.

Escapism is the true narcotic.

Avoiding one’s existential journey into who and what we are,

Why our volition should elect to subordinate the tyranny of our genes

For collective benefit through an idea

Our selfish nature has planted seeds in our ideologies

And our cellular construction as a two pronged attack

To achieve a Pyrrhic victory from dual flanks

Injuring our nature of community at the short-term benefit

Of leapfrogging our individuality for a mythical biological eternity

If there is a god, we are god, as is each quark in our universe

Matter and antimatter colliding and annihilating each other

Until we persist as the anomalies in a carousel of sabotage

As we were made to pursue an absent dancing partner

Caffeine, fast food, fructose, nicotine, alcohol, imbibe

Viral headlines overdose concern for a singularity tragedy

Court-case soap-operas, collegiate and professional sport armadas

Sailing through newscast buffets of traffic and weather

Coverage of non-substance which could be conveyed in a screen crawl

Is set to a ballet in firework pixels to un-focus our attention

And skip forward time’s record needle

Distraction afoot in the comical decadence of sexual and apathetic laughter

Stinging human skin in an intoxicant of lotus-lethargy in the poppy fields of indifference

We ingest juices of every flower to avoid visualizing the insurrection required

To simply choose love over fear like an impenetrable picket line of volition

Wrapping the universe to what, why and how and just as psychological fortitude approaches

We immolate our ration for notions of deities and religions pantomiming

As the wolf of fear dressed as love

And as such we gleefully enter the belly of our undoing  

Our lives are sugar-coated in such saccharine-epoxy

Spinning yarn of two-party politics which are in actuality a conjoined twin

Sharing a pairing of lungs, blood vessels and a sealed sphincter

Forcing one’s feces to traverse course through an animal

With four legs, a head on each end and a seamless abdomen concealing

The internal processing required to comprehend, that we are this creature

Cackling at our earnest protest and agreement firing bullets and teardrops

In streets, hospitals, temples and bedrooms; we are undulating in a cycle of distraction

We are escaping to probe what is not us, but is

Until the universe propagates a threshold of gravitational force amassing the density

Of an expanding black hole so that the event horizon claws back the stretch run

Of boundless space time into the darkness of an obliterating union

To where no radiation is left for the second law of thermodynamics

And our answer comes in the reverberating silence

Until we realize, this has happened before

The bang, the expansion, the contraction

The questioning, the indolence, the complacency, the escapism, the questioning

We are bound to be collapsing suns you and me

So that the air in our lungs is part of the same hydrogen explosion

Reverberating in the why and how of what we did in this illusion of time we had together

I speak this sweetly upon your pillow so that we may awake

To greater peace, love and interconnection in the morrow

For in this beauty love is the matter that does not cancel out

It is what has been here all this space-time being cloaked under god

Sugar, cigarettes, gasoline, churches, Bentonville Arkansas, and Arabica beans

I wake to breathe you not away, but in transition for there is no exit

Only a tide encompassing the limitless washing over to swell and subside

Allowing time for contemplation and in this window of open-thought

If so we choose to plug into the nothingness of such drug donut-boxes

Sprinkles and caked dough services, we are dealing escapism

To our purpose to our minds, progeny and collective as our haughty genes rejoice

In confounding spoils of a war of mutual defeat

Take your scribble pad, canvas, guitar strings and drum in sentiments resonating

Beyond language, vision, or sound to leapfrog not genetic code but time

So that this idea reverberates so mightily beyond the myopic chorus

Of a bloodline, heaven or perdition so that Olympus becomes an anthill

Of which we are part traveling not by drugged pheromone, but volition

Choose, bravely choose.