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Literature Text
For Allen
Who are the best minds of my generation?
Who doesn't hitch anymore because we're scared of hick pig-stroking rapists,
and who doesn't hang out?
Who stares at colourful boxes and taps on little buttons and we don't drink on roofs, man.
Who aren't scared of our senators, because we're white, and the current Red Scare's brown?
Who sits on their ass 22.5 hours a day and waits for their little box to glow in the right way?
Who needs calcium pearls, micro-granules and accessorised under-arms, caffeinated make-up, good bacteria and Activium?
Who imbibes ceramides and emulsifiers, nanosome electro-cosmetics, and who takes trichologists seriously?
Who saw the funny side of campaigns for equality, who played the satirist, and who now is too young to get the joke?
Who's afraid to do acid in case they jump out of a window, and who's given up grass because it makes them scared?
Who has sex to make up the numbers, and when's the last time we felt 'as one'?
Who lives under the shadow of the eternal bad guy while we try to replace the freedom we've lost with cars, dolls, smoke and bitter subservience?
Who couldn't throw their watches from the roof of their schools because they had to get to class?
Who doesn't read?
Who pours scorn at digital light waves, and who hopes who will be voted out of their range of vision?
Who can't think of anything more erotic than to sweat in a deafening, poorly lit room, gyrating away the last ounce of their brains before they screw something their eyesight wasn't feeling sober enough to protect them from?
Who longs for millions in a pool, for electric gates, butlers and absolute isolation from the scum of their heritage?
Who's so petrified they need a 360 wide-angle videoview of the world which they can watch from behind glass panels?
Who forced young men into orange jumpsuits and herded them like cattle, chained, and ready to be ridden?
Who read 1984, and got a hard-on?
Who saw your great wave fall back, drowning and choking the hope from our parents and leaving them drones under a mundane queen bee?
Who danced under the light of a thousand streetlamps, spitting, pissing, cumming their last onto cider-stained sidewalk pavements and bus shelters?
Who ran away screaming when confronted with the unlabeled milk-bearing vessel, and who suddenly played the bard against poor plot and dialogue when they saw two cowboys kissing?
Who gave up on thinking representation matters?
Who swore their lives on freedom to ridicule difference, and convinced themselves their acts were noble?
Who demanded lower prices while the un-white world was whipped and beaten and then left to die in a pile of ticked off cuts?
Who threw in the towel of protest, convinced it didn't work?
And who sat in their room, wishing their life was like yours while steadfastly refusing to do anything, instead slowly decaying their minds with a steady stream of numbered boxes, shitty grass, rum, porn and trivial games?
Seriously man.
You've got to see it to believe it.
Who are the best minds of my generation?
Who doesn't hitch anymore because we're scared of hick pig-stroking rapists,
and who doesn't hang out?
Who stares at colourful boxes and taps on little buttons and we don't drink on roofs, man.
Who aren't scared of our senators, because we're white, and the current Red Scare's brown?
Who sits on their ass 22.5 hours a day and waits for their little box to glow in the right way?
Who needs calcium pearls, micro-granules and accessorised under-arms, caffeinated make-up, good bacteria and Activium?
Who imbibes ceramides and emulsifiers, nanosome electro-cosmetics, and who takes trichologists seriously?
Who saw the funny side of campaigns for equality, who played the satirist, and who now is too young to get the joke?
Who's afraid to do acid in case they jump out of a window, and who's given up grass because it makes them scared?
Who has sex to make up the numbers, and when's the last time we felt 'as one'?
Who lives under the shadow of the eternal bad guy while we try to replace the freedom we've lost with cars, dolls, smoke and bitter subservience?
Who couldn't throw their watches from the roof of their schools because they had to get to class?
Who doesn't read?
Who pours scorn at digital light waves, and who hopes who will be voted out of their range of vision?
Who can't think of anything more erotic than to sweat in a deafening, poorly lit room, gyrating away the last ounce of their brains before they screw something their eyesight wasn't feeling sober enough to protect them from?
Who longs for millions in a pool, for electric gates, butlers and absolute isolation from the scum of their heritage?
Who's so petrified they need a 360 wide-angle videoview of the world which they can watch from behind glass panels?
Who forced young men into orange jumpsuits and herded them like cattle, chained, and ready to be ridden?
Who read 1984, and got a hard-on?
Who saw your great wave fall back, drowning and choking the hope from our parents and leaving them drones under a mundane queen bee?
Who danced under the light of a thousand streetlamps, spitting, pissing, cumming their last onto cider-stained sidewalk pavements and bus shelters?
Who ran away screaming when confronted with the unlabeled milk-bearing vessel, and who suddenly played the bard against poor plot and dialogue when they saw two cowboys kissing?
Who gave up on thinking representation matters?
Who swore their lives on freedom to ridicule difference, and convinced themselves their acts were noble?
Who demanded lower prices while the un-white world was whipped and beaten and then left to die in a pile of ticked off cuts?
Who threw in the towel of protest, convinced it didn't work?
And who sat in their room, wishing their life was like yours while steadfastly refusing to do anything, instead slowly decaying their minds with a steady stream of numbered boxes, shitty grass, rum, porn and trivial games?
Seriously man.
You've got to see it to believe it.
Literature
chicago
in chicago, i dug my teeth into my knees and prayed for the backs of your eyelids to stay dark and empty, prayed for the fresh scabs on your thighs.
so i kissed a girl with teeth like indian arrows, and whose knuckles stuck
out like weapons, a girl with a body like a war, trenches between her
shoulder blades and the scars of teenage sorrow scattered over her chest.
in illinois, my chest sunk down and the songs i sung into your telephone box get
heavier until it broke. naked on the bathtub floor, i wondered how your sister is
doing.
Literature
The Fallen
You shone like a shadow,
blending into the night like a ghost.
Feeding off our emotions, feeling hollow,
you were the parasite, we were the host.
You targeted and somehow drew me in,
with your sad eyes and crooked smile.
Speaking of a fire choking you from within,
you are the angel thrown into exile.
With broken feathers and tattered wings,
you reminisce of a time you've forsaken.
And during the loneliest nights I can hear you sing,
of the day where all you loved was taken.
Those sorrowful notes would carry and reach my ears,
and I'd ache from the pain you felt.
Your misery was more than I could bear to hear,
an
Literature
The Silverfish
The Silverfish
Awkward on a metal wire mesh chair
In a restaurant's outdoor section,
I must have been forgotten.
When the café closed the night before
There were no nameless patrons inside
Needing a polite request to leave,
And the waiter, absentminded, locked up,
Leaving me alone to the quieting night.
My rainy city dawn wakes me slowly,
Cold and glistening with dew.
"Where is the crème brûlée I ordered?"
I demand sleepily to the empty gray streets.
Instead I receive crystal droplets
Rolling off the red and white awning above me.
An old man wanders by on cobblestone,
Entertaining himself with philosophical conversation
With
Suggested Collections
This is inspired by Ginsberg's Howl, and life as it is today.
© 2006 - 2024 Superiorflowerpower
Comments14
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Brilliant. I can't wait to read more of your poetry.