#bourgeoisie
“Thank God that they fight over mites,”
Remarks bourgeoisie’s Big Brother.
Proles’ one tool is each other, but
It’s always night if you’ve short sight.
Mar 2, 2025
Mar 2, 2025 at 10:10 PM UTC
Fight this ingrown nail,
Sinking into congressional flesh,
Infected to the bone,
America, the free for the bourgeoisie,
America, the free for the bourgeoisie,
America, the free for the bourgeoisie,
America the free,
Oh baby!
America the free,
My lady!
Well maybe,
We're crazy,
Oh baby!
America, the free for the bourgeoisie,
America, the free for the bourgeoisie,
America, the free for the bourgeoisie.
There will come a time,
You'll realize the nail,
That is still ingrown,
Has cut a divide,
Between the ultra-rich,
And the ***** low class.
Maybe then, you'll begin,
Begin to think: America,
The free for the bourgeoisie,
America, the free for the bourgeoisie,
America, the free for the bourgeoisie.
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 2:42 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Happy to be Bourgeoisie
All cozy in my clichéd’ atmosphere
With a hammock beneath a backyard tree
And my riding lawnmower and a can of beer:
I am happy to be bourgeoisie, you see
Jul 16, 2021
Jul 16, 2021 at 1:37 PM UTC
hungry for power
while the poor starve from hunger
the rich shall cower
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 10:23 AM UTC
My theory was written on the other side of town.
Eyes that had only watched the world through
a single pane of glass, found reflections all round.
Where I used to see grey, crisp formations of cloud.
Even in the house, blocks of door painted one colour
were replaced with dreamlike figures cutting cake.
Anyway, yesterday a man wearing a Union Jack
flag on his waist and sleeve told me his worries.
Five or six cars parked, eight or nine bedrooms
lying cold and lonely while in the south of France.
To lose count of the windows in one's life, I thought,
as he asked me about the proletariat. Luxury indeed.
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 2:22 PM UTC
lay low
make yourself a nervous fit
imperfect replication
here no one’s happy
staring down narrow paths
burning out the cells
lining their guts
words are worthless.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
Someone told me talking to women was completely different from talking to men
Familial desire circumventing physical rationality
I don't ******* get it
Flesh is flesh
There is no separation between this body and the next
No delineation save for my own arbitrary ones
This world is chaos bound by imposition
And none of it is real
I'm not even going to say middle class conceptions of family are constructs
Everything is a construct
Knowledge is anthropic chaos
Don't pretend you can tell the difference between essential existence and our subjective reordering of boundless matter
A gap does not form between a molecule of air and a molecule of flesh
I am trapped in my own sensations but I am not defined by them
So back to the story of material existence reduced to reproductive imperative
Treating all of the other *** as a means to displace one's self beyond annihilation into temporal infinity
Who ******* cares?
Legacy does not carry on after death
Legacy does not even carry through life
Language breaks down the moment we open our mouths
No one will ever view your life the way you view it
Splashing through a pool, ripples morph all reflections into monstrous amalgamations
Hey, tell me
Do you even remember yourself that clearly?
Hollow triumph, grandfather's bones in a grandfather clock ticking past twelve
Sorry, I just don't see the allure of treating half the human race as a means to satiate your own lust whether physical or genealogical
Or even categorising humans into binary dualisms that bored philosophers a century ago
Haven't you heard? God is dead
And there is no meaning to your boring male existence
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 9:37 PM UTC
I can see beating a dead horse
Is still in fashion
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC