Show me a speaker belittling the
rabble of the crowd over the jester-pawn clowning for umbrage
I will stand silent until the
waters rise around us as the icecaps melt in apathetic time
I am the walrus drowning in the
demands sleeping in meditative cocoon guilty
As those too tall to climb off
their steeds glaring at the reflective cinema
The circus was not the bearded
woman or the devourer of fire
But the sideshow of the rubes
sardonically pointing out the obvious flaws in the routine
Proselytizing their unbelief in
why such uproarious clamor is unsuited for public obsession
So in the deed is done
The gawk-sheep have eaten mutton
while advertising veganism
The tomfoolery churns the honey
boo-boo butter cream
Until a marionette-nation is
looking for an unbeliever to rant against
The bullhorns yarn until words
become undecipherable,
“I cannot believe people watch
this trash! How despicable!
I did not see it the first time,
but I went back and looked and it was horrid!
Did you see how pusillanimous
this confabulating mob is addicted with this storyline?
Why will not this incessant
addiction to this fleeting reality pass on to what is truly important!”
Oh the kindred devil of popular
avarice has mixed its blood with the brood
The sentimental virus has become
the energy to magnetize the conceptual social identifier
That each link is identifying as
superior to the jagged iceberg peak of ignominy
That has become the mouse’s child
pop-star turned sexpot in desperation as the Lolita-fantasy
Has become blatant where before
the eggshell of innocence beguiled the soccer mother
To send her darlings into the
lion king’s den while the older brother’s masturbated at the thoughts
Of the posters up in his sister’s
room to dissect this conundrum as if unspinning Biblical pornography at
Lady Madonna’s Achy Breaky Heart,
Baby One More Time, Party in the USA of why TV-father sported
The mullet in the first place and
the little sister named her vibrator Justin when she let her nickers down
So the wolves of
ridicule have found the stitching to see that little-red riding hood is a sheep
underneath
The P.T. Barnum is
not that you will like the show, but that you will look,
Not that the
magician wants you to believe the illusion, but that you will be the illusion
Damning one’s mind
to the fulcrum of the science: distraction
For in the twerk-hooch
there is a pearl of wisdom the carpenter got out that Nashville oyster
Every Beverly
Hills 90210 housewife, swamp person, teen-mom, Hard Knocks, Hulk Hogan,
Steroid injected
and snorted cocaine line crossed is that amusement equates to diversion
To make you feel
happy in complacency with your own life so that potential riots are quashed
After the hoarder
has held the garage sale and the biggest loser has lost the weight
After the survivor
has been voted off the island or big brother surveillance become commonplace
The healthcare,
the public safety budget, the prison grid, the nutrients in the drive through
The contents of
your pantry, bank account, and gas tank are appreciated all the more
Because at least
you are not them; and so the floats pass one after the other
Blurb after car
accident, staring, drooling at the pixels keeping the hose crimped
To transpose
sufficient resources as scarce to drive up panic, profit, and
Demand for the
unnecessary like a Syrian missile strike to drive up Lockheed Martin’s stock
price
Are we not all in
the parade calling out nudity? Who is
speaking?
Goo Goo g-chew on:
Who wishes you to
remain perpetually distracted and from what?
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