They devoured it,
Romping through city streets in esteemed cliques
Touting handheld devices and filming it
Their probosces twiddling for a taste of sweet, disappointing fame

My generation's appetite makes me think about all they want,
Not in terms of conscious thought but chemically what they want
Like society wants to fall apart, like the body wants to die

Because their desires can be so shallow

(In a deeper sense, what do we want?)

Or perhaps desire,
Perhaps LIFE is not so deep, because
Hippies and beats are made into silly time-wasters
Lost dreamers in the dust of trap artists
16-year-old business moguls and social media stars
Famous drug dealers
And turncoat social climbers

Because it feels good.

Shallow as a knife's edge, they cut through reality
Perhaps even taking into account the suffering (we are all the suffering after all)
But dismissing it with a cool suave.

I pause for vain guesses at the life of some destitute person
And consider how small are my efforts to help this mysterious soul.