Today I was reminded of America's greatness.

The greatness that is truly just an idea.

The greatness that is truly fickle.

Fickle enough to be crushed by a mouse's nibble.

That a caricature could become the leader of the free world.

Indeed, the world will see how free we will be.

I was reminded that we are mentally enslaved.

To a media onslaught that trains us how to behave.

We are conditioned, on our own conditions.

We relinquish critical thought for a pre-programmed intuition.

Welcome Mr. President, to your dining table.

On it you will notice a sumptuous oyster,

The world is within.

Treat it carefully.

Or don't.

The choice is yours, sir.

The consequence is ours.

Because we love propaganda

More than a proper agenda.

We fiend to be the rightest

Instead of being righteous.

And we're eager to give a piece of our minds,

Instead of gaining collective peace of mind.

Welcome American people, to the first day of a new legacy.

A new tragedy.

Her eyes are glowing rubies

Her hair is crimson; flowing beauty

Her aura is an avalanche, the snow ensues me.

How, oh, how could this happen to me?!


Her smile peels back the curtains on the sunshine

And pulls open my chest, like Clark Kent's shirt when it's punch time

Then caresses my heart as if her love was mine

And she would never know

But that is much better though.


Her face glows

Her shape flows

She makes me wish I could see her face at every day's beginning and every day's close.


How could this be?!

I despise romancing!

What potion has entranced me?

I never believed in love at first sight


Until I saw her.


I do not believe in love

Except the agape kind.

But every time I see her

The image remains branded on my mind.

I see her smile expand to fullness in slow motion;

Memorized.

Mesmerized.

Terrorized.


This is impossible!

I am a Stoic!

And yet,

I am a poet.

I could see beauty in the hideous,

Draw meaning from the frivolous,

Confound the wittiest

But now I'm just an idiot.

Because instead of harnessing beauty,

Beauty has harnessed me.

Just days ago, she sat in a car with me

But if she ever knew these thoughts, she'd stay far from me.


I write this in hopes to expel this foolish infatuation

Of a hormonal child awaiting maturation.

See, she makes me think of a life that is merely a fancy,

The simple thought of her makes my heart get antsy

I don't know why, to me, she seems so beyond the usual

And the fact of our different races makes it all seem even more beautiful.


I will look away when in her presence,

Even as I exchange a sentence

No more to be subdued by her essence

And feel like the lowest of peasants.


I do not need her
I will not seek her
I will not flee her
I will not squeeze her
No reveries of a life of me and her

She brings me from equilibrium to ecstasy at her leisure,

And this


Is why I hate to see her.

I can't sleep
Everytime I remember your words
They snap and recoil
And hurt me awake
Next time when someone
Promises me forever
I'll just smile
Look them in the eyes and ask
How long is forever to you.

I must be a bad one;

A band of one.

Banned.

Done.

Abandoned.

It is the 23rd century,
The other rebels are showcased in the penitentiary
In the city’s center street
To gratify the remnants of the sensory.

They’re beheld through double-paned hybrid walls of palladium, aluminum oxide and diamond;
In each cell their own reflection’s seen

Endlessly.

There is no blue sky, no scent of trees;
The cells’ sounds rebound and resound

To promote censoring.

It all began in the 21st century;
Now, ancient relics are kept in a technological cemetery,
Guarded by a sophisticated sentry.

Unbound knowledge damaged our brains,
Progress became our shackle and chains.
We—humanity—became dependent like a candle and flame
And gradually, drastically, society managed to change.
All who resisted were banished in shame,
Then our history was lost; I’m lucky to even know my family name.

I am the last rebel.
I know of tambourines, timbre and treble.
I know of beauty that once made men tremble.
I know of the past gods;

Before we made the last devil.

Now we are the drones.
We mass-produced their bodies, now we are the clones.
Now they think, speak and feel for us—we are just bones.
We built our father’s house upon these rocks:

We are the stones.

If any should read this before the ripples of time dwindle,
I’ll be plain: we surrendered human expression to digital signals and symbols.
We once made music from thimbles and cymbals,
Praised the Lord on the timbrels,
Shouted aloud atop the shingles.
It was all so profound, because it was so simple.
Eventually what the experts, geniuses and pros found
Was a way to hose down

A waterfall.

Now, propriety is: No psaltry, poetry or piety.
The cemetery holds the devices which ushered the end of society.
But I have seen them;
I devised a scheme to sneak in silently
And study the history privately.

I was stunned. Stricken, as with fear,
And for the first time in years
My eyes leaked with tears.

If I could talk to them,
If I could ask a question,
If I could somehow call,
I’d ask why—just why did you allow it all?!
How could you not foresee the downfall?!
Why did not some societal siren sound off?

Speaking of sirens...
Oh, no...
They’ve found my lair...
See, this is why I’ve found fault!

Now I am a rebel—a renegade—forced to live like a groundhog

Simply because I seek to enlighten and warn all,
Like one who foresaw
The siege of Warsaw.

If this is ever found, preserve my last words:
LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION

Signed,

The Last Outlaw

Reed Jobs X

i will be made of love again
just you wait
it will gleam like dew on my skin
spark my eyes
it will fill out my hips
pour into the gaps
between my ribs
i will be full of it
it will burst forth from me
like sunlight
i will be radiant, evergreen
my love will be in overabundance
i will not know what to do with it all
but know this
not a drop of it will be spilt on you
not a dappled ray of light
will be wasted on your skin
my brilliance will not feed you
i will not be eaten.