another workday -
ignore the catastrophe,
bury your conscience.

another number,
type away the foreboding,
count down the minutes.

another dollar,
think about the bottomline,
excess overflow.

another warning -
it is coming to an end.
when will we wake up?

Let's walk down a path
Of economic prosperity
Turned to wealth
And forget the person

Definition of improving
What already exists
Translates to robot creation
From human biome matrix

We look over our shoulder
What wAs once us fades
As R and D facilities erase
Try to prove their worth

At what cut in our flesh
How deep into tissue
Or sawed bone are you
Willing to purchase

A world now
                 not our own?

Advertising, and, selling; avarice.
From, a soap box, of; loving hate.
When, it's, screens, are, turned-off,
the blackened, square hole, is; cavernous.
When, it's, viewership, is, turned-on,
the captor's, uncleanly; reel in the bait.

Once, steeled, and, mettled, imaginations.
Welded, into; cerebral shackles.
Worn by, zombies; the meaty prisoners,
in, solitary cells, of; fabrication.
Webbed, lied-to, wrists; impressed upon,
misunderstand, their; upped hackles.

Furring clasps, around; synapses.
The servitude, of, stroke-ing, lost selves.
Capital flesh, is, imprisoned, in, the
cholesterol, of, shop aisles. It collapses.
"There's, MORE, in the back... Hurry up!!
Stop thinking... Stock the shelves!!"

Want's desires; outlived hope, and, outlast,
any, notion, or, sense, of, mind.
Audienced memories, are; captured,
by; forgetful, dredged, enmeshed; pasts.
'Compatriots of Togetherness', are;
canned myth; unlaughed. Re-runs; resigned.

© poormansdreams

Am I too much?
Hard to swallow, a bitter pill?
Am I raw and unprocessed,
Undiluted, concentrated,
Too spicy for your stomach?

Good.

Choke on it.

I won’t cut myself
To bite-size pieces.
I am not a convenient product.

My feathers are not plucked,
My hair is unshorn,
My feet are unshod,
And the muscle of my thigh
Is for kicking, not meat.

Do you not like the taste?
Poor spoiled glutton,
You cannot acquire it.

Find your refined sugar elsewhere –
I do not come pre-packaged.

2004 felt so far away from 1994
2014 was another world compared to 2004
2024, and it all looks the same

Sure, we feel different; scattered, deranged
Not knowing who to believe or blame
You gave it all to us too fast at once
All the movies, music, and TV
All the books, articles, and self-help
All the DIY guides and platforms to perform
We never realized we were not cut out to be the curators
and communities all by our lonesome selves in our bedrooms
We crumble at the weight of it all, blame ourselves for not achieving dreams like the pretty people on the tiny screen
Boomer producer parents spend so much dough to help their kids seem bespoke  

I'm afraid many poors got too smart between 2004 and 2014
Too much decent community college, Marxist pdfs, and low down creatives coming together

You can't find what you used to in real life, let alone online

The 6 rich guys that run the world got scared of too many redneck dads actually liking Bernie Sanders and the new sushi bar downtown

People were getting too smart, so they flooded us with slop
to get us back to the naïve pissants we were before 9/11, or maybe even before the Industrial Revolution

my father is telling me last night he dreamt he was telling the neighbours to install a shining privacy screen. my mother is telling me she dreamt about doing her taxes. “hand over your documents” the man said. she’s telling me how it was a different man, and how he really should have already had their documents, and i’m just sitting here thinking ‘if my dreams ever get this boring, please shoot me’. i don’t want domestic fantasies. i am not my father. my father’s only son is the house we live in. i am not allowed to touch the walls. i am not my mother. i do not care if my surfaces shine or not. i am not my parents. i do not want a government job. i do not want a sterile house. i don’t like ikea furniture. i still have dreams about zombies and my friends and war the ocean and i never want that to go away.

Stretching out like a lion before a fight, dressing like Madonna before a flight.

The scene is filled with blurred out faces, using cigar filled spaces, with big fat snout that grin behind champagne cases. Using tux and hat to hide its hideous face.

The music starts, curtains drop, the dress is on, breath is held. The **** show is to start.

Stand up and start to spin.

Spin and twist like a quiz with questions of riches.
The growing snouts are getting greater as the ash trays are getting major.

The ace and break of broken pines and spine that been rearranged to fit the Madonnas dress.

The show must continue, continue to stand and twist and jump and smile like some sort of an idiot.

Stand at the tiptoes reaching for the gold above while the tips are dripping thru. The bleeding tips that keep painting the ceiling red are painting runes on the ceiling and floor like a sign for the sos.

The pigs are wheezing, the ash is in the air, the gold has fallen. Just the ash that builds up the throat, the only motivation that keeps the smile on and the floors glowing red. The curtain drops the wheezing stop. The floor is so close and the gold is so far. Bette luck next time is all I hear.

~
I felt a funeral
between the timid breaths
of ruination, we plucked
to death the melancholic florals
called time flowers,
translucent growths
with crystal hearts,
gifted them to someone else's children,
placed them around the waist
of everyone else's wives.

When plucked,
that crystal core dissolves,
emitting the light trapped within.
perpetual splendor or
the endless cycles of death?
do the normal rules
of chronology apply?

Look now! here comes
the great unwashed riot,
we live in an age of visual saturation,
where tragedy and beautiful
distractions crowd in on all sides,
clamoring for our attention.

Perhaps the dystopian premise
is part of a fiendish plan,
becoming the backdrop
to a fluttering cornucopia
of florals, each outfit paraded
in the beginning of May,
a blooming display of finery
hiding a complex
network of roots –
sponsorship deals,
brand calculations,
dedicated craftsmanship,
exposure opportunities
– beneath its pretty skirts.
~