On row DH30A102
Buddha is seated,
in dust covered boxes
a dozen more
waiting to be shipped out and sold
for 29.99 at your local store.
'Surely the fatman
will give our house
a unique Zen feel to it.'
I've outgrown the hibernaculum I was sewn into
at birth--the beast cannot be tamed
by suppressing the lungs and drowning them in liquors
darker than the sludge inside our bellies. And full
those bellies have grown; pregnant by the
Bourgeois hands that are fat from a materialistic complex
as though the bounty hung before them is silk
and succulent on the tongue (as they are cut from the mouths).
These minds are like rot in the veins,
and they permeate,
and they anchor,
and they sink into our bones only to remind me
that there is always an ocean to
if the land is too dry.
Should be a profanity
Consigned to myth
We are taught to aspire
To live a life
That doesn't exist.
And saturated colour
Feeds us a fiction
Because you will live average
And will not become
The thing of dreams
Staring out of magazines.
— The End —