Everything Is Stupid...My Year in Review Poem

Money is paper… digitally and electronically transferred from thinnest to the fattest of ghost chambers, back and forth in stacks of seconds.
Economy is the newest t.v. celebrity on the corner, in the dust, biting. The sweet granular bags, the grainy loaves, the gallons of gallons exploiting dollars and cents, twisting, changing slightly while erupting through state borders. Over saturated increasing maturation of minors making them major players in decisions mending incisions of forked tongued politicians and bullet riddling wars of man. Much anticipated come-backs and so called second chances, humble abodes not so humble with the bookies who keep track like three-eyed futuristic snails to hail a cab painted in shields to spook the spooks and hasten the weary nine to fivers. Miscalculating clouds, winds wrapped in falling rain hiding destructive taste that no news man can predict. Laborers labor and lament of a time gone when work was work and keep was kept not by size, when cities had more pride and less construction for philanthropists who only make up an almost invisible percentage of the “working class”, ha! The gossip, the break-ups the newborns the famous dead, the he said she said still carries a tune in the radio waves of gimmick limericks and dumb’d down dirt flavored bubble gum. School teachers still under-paid and moonlighting in the living rooms of parents with their over opinionated views on border control, battling the bulge and Bush, spreading like a sickness, out of the mouths of babes. Hand me downs upping the family interest rates, acceptance may cost you a finger or an ear. Entry level positions lure with the hourly wage just to laugh you all they way passed dues, bills and the bank. Parental control, over loaded, decoded, loosing channels of blocked effort reaching the drop off point, a haven of sorts with a ridiculously misused revolving door. Loneliness and weed, homelessness and greed softly conditioned in, leaving a fresh-scent film. Troubled paradise, black and blue blood-shot eyes of the self insufficient burdened with real, actual unaddressed needs, flooding overly brightly lit waiting rooms to be flour sifted by the service of the socials, setting the standard of constructive productive belittling for at least 20 hours a week on microscopic documented detailed diaper duty for less than your landlord will take but staying naked and well fed, of course. Missed opportunities, hopes, dreams and transportation waiting on a broke down assembly line in the littlest shop of horrors visible from space….

You know, they say that "what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger", right – I say, what doesn’t kill you makes you accountable, holding you, seeking, able, sentient!







...feelin like a prisoner, trapped in the heat of the moment