At a loss for what it costs for these dreams,
my boss is a bot I mean a mean machine,
I mean that it seems,
they talk but I do not know what they mean,

I mean I got a feeling,
that sometimes things are not what they seem,
but I mean,
how can things not not be what they seem,

& it seems that we’re sleep walking in a day dream,
or more of a nightmare where they don’t fight fair when they feign,
& we scream but can’t wake up our minds or make up the time as it speeds,
on an assembly line butchering swine while dining on ham & cheese,

& I want to defy all of these lies,
but I don't have the time nor the energy,
so I write the signs of our times line after line,
instead of going head to head or eye to eye with the enemy,

trying to write it all out even though still I don't know what's gotten into me,

& still it’s obnoxious to to think,
that they’ve lost their conscience to memes & their consciousness to drinks,
unconscious to all things exotic while being white washed up in mainstreams,
lost in constant nonsense on narcotics it’s all gone in a smoky noxious steam,

while toxically ****** overgrown weeds sown from GMO seeds,
create these monsters that feign for meaningless things,
like rings that bling & the profits that conquest brings,
& they won’t stop this nonsense until they pop like a viral venereal disease,

I mean I’m honest I mean I mean what I say & I say what I mean,
& honestly I say they’ll **** the whole cow just for the cream,
I say they're an obese disease concealed between two legs in designer jeans,
as they march in unison an army of ants that only answer to the Queen Bee,

Martyrs for Dollars with corporate sponsors,
broadcast worldwide on cable TV,
I mean why do you think the youngest billionaire in history,
is a degenerate Jenner by the name of Kylie,
it's not a coincidence that she profits from cosmetics,
I mean cosmetics cause cancer which benefits the pharmaceutical industry,
& I don't mean that personally I mean I'm not sure what's gotten into me,
or why I'm speaking so recklessly without offering any apologies,
like a Kamikaze **** drunk on whisky,
standing in the street like “c’mon cop man frisk me!”,
or a Stalin on Ritalin or better yet a Britney with bad kidneys,
still collecting those royalty checks from Daddy Walt Disney,
& it’s all moving so fast I can’t get a grip or a grasp,
& not only am I disoriented but I’m also starting to get dizzy,

I mean,
it seems things can not not be all that they seem,

I mean,
it seems these words can not read all that they mean,

I mean,
it seems we sold out our dreams when we bought into these screens,

I mean,
it seems I don’t know if I really know if I know what I say or say what I mean,

I mean,
it's confusing to try & make sense of this nonsense & I'm sick of explaining,
I mean it’s absolutely obscene what these monsters will do for the cream,
sacrifice the whole Holy Cow all in the name of the American Dream,

& I'm at a loss for what it costs for these dreams,
my boss is a bot I mean a mean machine,
I mean that it seems,
they talk but I do not know what they mean,

I mean I got a feeling,
that sometimes things are not what they seem,
but I mean,
how can things not not be what they seem...

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Vol.2: Mandalas
available worldwide 8/8/18

Born into a world that boldly states it wants you dead.
Freaks atop soapboxes pay top-dollar for your head.
Resolution falters and your ego falls apart.
Human beings living in denial of their hearts.

*** is just a hobby to those hedonistic swine,
Twisted metamorphosis of evils intertwined.
More and more consumption just to fill the gaping void.
Lie upon your deathbed and recall what you've enjoyed;

Not the plastic figurines that sat upon your shelves,
Not the animated films you've watched since you were twelve,
Not pretentious critics or the artists they adore,
Selling out your soul, becoming satisfaction's *****?

Living like a rat will never justify the pain.
Running through the maze, the patterns etched into your brain.
Jump through hoops and maybe you'll receive another treat.
After all, the struggle makes your carcass taste so sweet.

In the shopping center
     I feel like an exile.
     As I write this,
sitting on a patio furniture display,
I realize I am the only one
without a cart full of cardboard
and artless plastic.
     A seasoned couple quarrels in the next aisle over which
shower curtain to go home with
as if it really matters at all.
     Children yearn for the colorful things, women the shiny,
men the dangerous.
     I want to tell them that if
they want color, brilliance, and danger,
they should listen to Elvis Presley
or read Tom Robbins.
     Anyway, I buy the lawnchair
I've been sitting on
and walk out the door.

a kingdom wholesale, loose strings of coupons;
a throne of pepsi cartons amidst the concrete
lights shine over the infinite rows of freezers
so sample the pork and pass by the petunias
dream of the electronics display let the
laptops regard visions of the self inside which
empty bubbles where words should go but don't
flutter across up blue and white.
to buy mulch is to regard the manure as
nothing but what it claims to be.
i ordered a hotdog after checking out and i sat and ate
and there is a vending machine here that only
dispenses water bottles.