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its a blue Monday
after Super Sunday
Americas 45th funday
yesterdays spectacle

the dip is done
the broken bones
of buffalo wings
fill giant glad bags

the ridged ripples
of broken Doritos
scattered on the floor
wait for a vacuums hum

dead soldiers rattle
a melodious cascade
the aroma of flat Bud
plunge into recycle bins

ribbed Trojans
dripping bagged ****
rim plastic trash cans
confirm an ****'s frenzy

the game forgotten
commercial reveries remain
seared into the briney mush
of compliant olfactories

collective hallucinations
successfully branded
a new and improved
global consciousness

Madmen Shamans
ebulliently channel
transactional zeitgeists
from the ripped boxes of
Best Buy plasma screens

Monday morning
water cool scuttlebutt
the planet is buzzing about...

Google's cool slap
of IPod clad automatons
the vanquishers of IBM's evil empire
Apple's brave new world is next
("meet the new boss,
same as the old boss?")

we all dug
rolling with Eminem
through the glitzy
streets of Motown

How cool is 8 Mile?
The hoods lookin good
angelic chorus lifts spirits
Swing Low Sweet Chrysler

The artistic types
faun over
the graphic beauty
illustrious aestheticism

moving story line
the epic journey
of the worlds
greatest brand

heroic product marketing pros
rival Jason and the Argonauts
sojourning trans-formative odysseys
of clever packaging and fat tail shelf life

holding precious real estate
of living imaginations
infecting hearts and minds
of future generations

realizing
everything
ends better
with coke

The State Farm Pre-Game
Jimmy Johnson's new coiff
jawed away with his old boss
rattlesnake booted Jerry Jones

A poignant embrace captured in
living color on grand jumbo trons
lording over a cavernous palace
a new stadium for Homeboys

Jimmy J asks Jerry J
"Why you overpaid
for The Boys New
Crib?"

"A billion 4,
a palace for the masses".
Jerry breaks some news
with an impish wink.
"No expense is spared
for the peeps."

"I always make out,
get a good return. I
make a profit. Ain't
America great."

This year Super Bowl
went Hollywood
and installed
a long red carpet.

Mike Strahan, collared
Harrison Ford.
Bagging his greatest sack
on a dazzling red rug.

"How many Super Bowls
is this for you?"
Strahan whistles
through his gaped teeth.

The aging Indiana Jones
came to promote his new flick,
"Cowboys and Aliens"
(I'm told an early Cannes
favorite. And it should be. Spoiler alert,
the movie is a moving story of an American tragedy.
Romo blows another one
throwing an interception in overtime.
The Aliens return it 95 yards for a touchdown.
Boy's lose again. America's Team vanquished by bubble headed Martians.
All of Texas weeps.)

Indy
coolly quips an answer
whipping with sarcasm,
"after today, one."
yuck yuck
lol

Strahan continues
to stalk Ford like a
scrambling quarterback,
"where will you be sitting?"

Ford shrugs
"dunno,
somewhere
up-there,
I guess",
he points to
the lofty
luxury boxes.
Royalty sits
next to God
in Jerry Jones
house of the
people.

Ford dons a green scarf.
He's down with the Pack.
Another sunshine *****
in the seat.

Michael Douglas and Zeta Jones
arrive in time to hear
Keith Urban sing
"Who Wouldn't Want to be Me?"

"He's alive
He's free
Who wouldn't
want to be me?"

Indeed who?

The parade
of heroes
continue.

The walking,talking
little S Corp, LLC's
dance their way
into the stadium
on resplendent
cushions of red.

Terrific brands
all earnestly
questing to
urgently
deliver
messages
to promote
themselves
and plug
shameful
products.

A Black Eye Peas
teaser
blinks onto
my giant
flat screen.

Will I Am
a black man
in a blacker mask
marches down the street
zapping people
with a ray gun.
(fascist culture is so cool, a
little light on liberation,
but **** does he look bad as all get out
in that leather rumble don't **** with me
outfit)

Jamie Foxx on the royal carpet leaks
that he yodeled three tunes
at a pregame party for Jerry's Kids;
T Boone and the Big W among them.

Quick cut
to Jamie's
new movie
Rio.
(I wonder if its
about Mexicano's
crossing the river?)

Wealth
Power
the perfect
image of ourselves
take a pill

I am Limitless
a new movie?
I've seen this one before.
I think I'm watching it now.

Just Go With It
Adam *******,
Jennifer Aniston
Americas sweetheart
teamed with Americas
kosher jokester.

He looks hot
in his droopy
pretend
don't give a ****
orange sweatshirt
and acid washed jeans.

Jennifer's ****, legs
what can you say
about America's sweetheart?
I think Brad Pitt
made a big mistake.

Bill O
is next.
Posturing,
arm wrestles
with the Prez,
shadow boxes
with the Big O.

"Muslim Brotherhoods
Rendition
Mubarack goes off the reservation
knows where the bodies are buried"
***!
***!

(Do we really need a dose of Fox Fear?
Is there no escape from the pernicious harangue?
Don't they know its Super Bowl Sunday?)

Bill O's drive by continues,
"Obamacare,
why do Americans hate you?"
Great journalism by this Fox ****.

Bill O is
haughty,
arrogant,
disrespectful
a despicable bully
and a self serving blow hard.

(My bladder is busting.
Its a great time to take a ****.)

We escape to
the freshness
of Owen Wilson's
smiling face,
playing two hand touch.

His bent nose
shining
he trots about
Jerry's field
carefree as a child.
(Is this a pitch, pass and punt
contest for A Listers?)

Other stars
join the light fun;
goose cheerleaders
give the cabana boys
hand-jobs
and themselves
a well earned blow-job.

Its an **** of photo ops
product placement
a sizzling collection
of dancing brands
prancing on the gridiron
of the New Cowboy field.

Ashton Kutcher
peeks over the shoulder
of a tweeting W.
I'm impressed
W knew
how to use
his thumbs.

Mrs. W's
permanent smile
was clearly visible
from the stadiums
cheapest seats.

Condie sat
way to the right
quietly stewing
lamenting
lost opportunities
of a gig as NFL
Commissioner.

On the stadiums floor
the frenetic dancing
of the
bumping
brands
fast
approaches
ecstatic elation.

Hollywood's version of
Whirling Dervishes; is
immediately stilled
as the solemn portion
of the program
commences.

The Declaration of Independence
is read by a bright galaxy of stars
accompanying armed service personnel
and other diligent American's.

"We hold these truths
to be self evident"

"United colonies
levee war,
dissolve bounds,
our day of allegiance
lives, fortunes and sacred honor
freedom is common sense,
free, equal, united"

CEO's
imprisoned
in Jerry's
luxury boxes
overcome
with
emotion
pound fists
on the glass
smearing
cocktail sauce
on the windows
of the suites.

Illegal
Chicano's
bravely
step forward
with rolls
of Bravo
and Windex
to wipe
it clean.

The focal point
of festivities
seismically
shifts like a
tectonic plate
almost as large
as Jerry's Stadium.

The stampede
of cheers
thunder like
canon shots,
the patriotic
ramparts of
militant
free market
capitalism
supplants the
shallow frivolity
of consumer slavery.

We are
compelled
to kneel
to celebrate a
Eucharist of
nationalism.

My partner explodes,
"Can't watch a football game
and view it for what it is,
a ******* football game."

The Fox
broadcasters
dedicate
this segment
of the show
to our military.

I squirm in my seat.
Sorry,
but the declaration is about
free people in free societies
not militarism.

Next up
dis old cowboy
Sam Elliot.
He knows
how to speak
the language
of real football fans.
Finally, a man of the people.

Sam introduced the cities.
He starts with Pittsburgh.

"Built on steel
a place where
terrible is good
these are the
enduring qualities
of this great American City."

The Steelers
make a timely entrance
onto the floor of the stadium,
as millionaires erupt
shaking their terrible towels.

Sam's
fuax
folkism
for
Fox Sports
continued.

"Green Bay is Title Town
the people never quit.
Crafty veterans are winners
exhorting all to greatness"

Images
of Lombardi's
toothy grin
fills my 72 inch screen.
A visitation by
America's Saint,
the sanctifier
of all competition
anoints the proceeding,
the quest to claim
the trophy named
for the games
very own
Archangel
of the
Gridiron.

The extended gig of
Lombardi's ghost
has haunted America
for over half a century;
has reportedly been seen
stalking the stage
on Broadway.

The anointed
Packers sprint
onto the field and
millionaire cheese heads
taking big bites out of life
erupt in cheers.

My hi def wide screen
made by Sharp reports
Battle of Los Angeles
opens 3/11/11.
The Chicago Code
premiers on Fox
sometime in March.

Walter Payton
Man of The Year Award
is presented
to an NFL Player
watching the game
with the troops
in Iraq.

The millionaires
don't cheer,
but the Fox announcers
are verklempt
overcome with patriotism.

Michelle Lee,
star
of Fox'***** show
Glee,
poses in front of a
sanitized choir
in blue uniforms to sing
America the Beautiful.

The beautiful song
is but an opening act
for the musical centerpiece
Star Spangled Banner.

The cameras cut
to a smiling W.
He can't get into Switzerland
but ******, he won't be turned out
of JJ's OK Corral.

Christina Aguilera
takes center stage.
She mounts
the silver football
crowning the
Holy Logo of the NFL
to sing the hallowed
Star Spangled Banner.

She fumbles her lines!
She forgot the rockets red glare!
The Steelers are crying.
The Packers are angry.
Ice melts from the stadiums roof.
The foundations of Jerry Jones
new stadium shakes.

A fly over of 4 fighters in formation
appears to be unaffected by the flub.
The planes do not crash.
They stay in formation.

The pilots spare Christina
a strafing and drone strike.
The republic remains
secure for now.

An unfamiliar announcer
addresses TV land.
He offers an apology to the fans
who cannot be seated.

The fire marshals
have revoked
Jerry's seating plan.
Greed got the better
of this man of the people.
Cowboy Stadium
is overbooked!

What is happening?
Is this America?
An ATT commercial
arrives just in time.

ATT has a new plan for America.
They encourage us to live social
with the new ATT AG.
Free market solutions
always work best.

Michael Douglas
reads another
patriotic exhortation.

"United we,
see the journey
of Acme Packers
as our journey."

"We see the resolve
of US Steel
as our resolve.
Big dreams
believe the best
journeys are
celebrated together."
(I'm down with that.
Whats good for Jerry Jones
is still good for me.
Right On! Check this stadium.
Power to the people!
It may not apply to the people who
will not be seated but tough nuggies.
This is America ******. Everybody
can't be seated at the table.
Even if they paid for their seat.
This ain't Red China.)

Neon Dion and other inductees
into the Football Hall of Fame
tosses the coin.
Steelers' call tails.
Heads it is.

At half time
The Black Eyed Peas
descend from
an upper Valhalla.

Still attired in
black fascist threads
The Righteous Peas
start wailing as
white metallic minions
dressed as
Imperial Storm Troopers
gallop to surround
their idols.

Precise formations
goose steppin bops
choreographic steps
the visceral *****
perfect counter-point
to swabbles of wiggling Peas.

Slash,
Guns and Roses
guitar hero
gunslinger
strode on stage
winging
this gal of mine
in choreographed
unison with
the leggy
Fergie.

Pumping it louder
the spectacle incites
the dancing
Imperial minions
quick steppin
and fetchin it
as Usher descends
in white unison
to leap and dance
over nasty
black peas.

The Gods
are descending
upon us.
Their words
have become
flesh.

The BEP's bleat
"kids are dying
wheres the love?"
Art does mirror life.

The neon hearts
of cheap
glow sticks
light up
the time
of our lives.

We are
cubed box heads
happily dancing along
the 50 yard line
answering China's
resounding drum
of frantic proletarians
bashing away
neocolonial disgrace
during the opening
ceremony of the worlds
greatest Olympian
display of
the pounding will
of an emerging nation
arriving on the world stage
with urgent insistence.

In America
we party on
every night
swiping
revoked
credit cards
for express lane
exits at the
local Walmart.

We are proud
highly personal
bar codes!

We refuse to be
marked down and flung
into discount bins at a
Tupelo Dollar Store.

Our light of life
flashes across screens
directing the trading pits
at the Chicago Board of Trade.

Each Super Bowl Sunday
souper bowl beggars
collect canned soup
for hungry Americans
at the local Shop and Drop

begging for larmen
boxes of Kraft
freeze dried noodles
and cans of Progresso
the feast of kings

A triumph
of the
Will I Am
BOOM BOOM
Says
Will I Am

I finish my bag of
Cool Ranch Doritos
and lick my partners
fingers clean.

Music Selection
Steve Miller,
Livin in the USA


2/7/11
Oakland
jbm
(WIP)
with an Apple Macintosh
you can't run Radio Shack programs
in its disc drive.
nor can a Commodore 64
drive read a file
you have created on an
IBM Personal Computer.
both Kaypro and Osborne computers use
the CP/M operating system
but can't read each other's
handwriting
for they format (write
on) discs in different
ways.
the Tandy 2000 runs MS-DOS but
can't use most programs produced for
the IBM Personal Computer
unless certain
bits and bytes are
altered
but the wind still blows over
Savannah
and in the Spring
the turkey buzzard struts and
flounces before his
hens.
its a blue Monday
after Super Sunday
Americas 45th funday
yesterdays spectacle

the dip is done
the broken bones
of buffalo wings
fill giant glad bags

the ridged ripples
of broken Doritos
scattered on the floor
wait for a vacuums hum

dead soldiers rattle
a melodious cascade
the aroma of flat Bud
plunge into recycle bins

ribbed Trojans
dripping bagged ****
rim plastic trash cans
confirm an ****'s frenzy

the game forgotten
commercial reveries remain
seared into the briney mush
of compliant olfactories

collective hallucinations
successfully branded
a new and improved
global consciousness

Madmen Shamans
ebulliently channel
transactional zeitgeists
from the ripped boxes of
Best Buy plasma screens

Monday morning
water cool scuttlebutt
the planet is buzzing about...

Google's cool slap
of iPod clad automatons
the vanquishers of IBM's evil empire
Apple's brave new world is next
("meet the new boss,
same as the old boss?")

we all dug
rolling with Eminem
through the glitzy
streets of Motown

How cool is 8 Mile?
The hoods lookin good
angelic chorus lifts spirits
Swing Low Sweet Chrysler

The artistic types
faun over
the graphic beauty
illustrious aestheticism

moving story line
the epic journey
of the worlds
greatest brand

heroic product marketing pros
rival Jason and the Argonauts
sojourning trans-formative odysseys
of clever packaging and fat tail shelf life

holding precious real estate
of living imaginations
infecting hearts and minds
of future generations

realizing
everything
ends better
with coke

The State Farm Pre-Game
Jimmy Johnson's new coif
jawed away with his old boss
rattlesnake booted Jerry Jones

A poignant embrace captured in
living color on grand jumbo trons
lording over a cavernous palace
a new stadium for Homeboys

Jimmy J asks Jerry J
"Why you overpaid
for The Boys New
Crib?"

"A billion 4,
a palace for the masses".
Jerry breaks some news
with an impish wink.
"No expense is spared
for the peeps."

"I always make out,
get a good return. I
make a profit. Ain't
America great."

This year Super Bowl
went Hollywood
and installed
a long red carpet.

Mike Strahan, collared
Harrison Ford.
Bagging his greatest sack
on a dazzling red rug.

"How many Super Bowls
is this for you?"
Strahan whistles
through his gaped teeth.

The aging Indiana Jones
came to promote his new flick,
"Cowboys and Aliens"
(I'm told an early Cannes
favorite. And it should be. Spoiler alert,
the movie is a moving story of an American tragedy.
Romo blows another one
throwing an interception in overtime.
The Aliens return it 95 yards for a touchdown.
Boy's lose again. America's Team vanquished by bubble headed Martians.
All of Texas weeps.)

Indy
coolly quips an answer
whipping with sarcasm,
"after today, one."
yuck yuck
lol

Strahan continues
to stalk Ford like a
scrambling quarterback,
"where will you be sitting?"

Ford shrugs
"dunno,
somewhere
up-there,
I guess",
he points to
the lofty
luxury boxes.
Royalty sits
next to God
in Jerry Jones
house of the
people.

Ford dons a green scarf.
He's down with the Pack.
Another sunshine *****
in the seat.

Michael Douglas and Zeta Jones
arrive in time to hear
Keith Urban sing
"Who Wouldn't Want to be Me?"

"He's alive
He's free
Who wouldn't
want to be me?"

Indeed who?

The parade
of heroes
continue.

The walking,talking
little S Corp, LLC's
dance their way
into the stadium
on resplendent
cushions of red.

Terrific brands
all earnestly
questing to
urgently
deliver
messages
to promote
themselves
and plug
shameful
products.

A Black Eye Peas
teaser
blinks onto
my giant
flat screen.

Will I Am
a black man
in a blacker mask
marches down the street
zapping people
with a ray gun.
(fascist culture is so cool, a
little light on liberation,
but **** does he look bad as all get out
in that leather rumble don't **** with me
outfit)

Jamie Foxx on the royal carpet leaks
that he yodeled three tunes
at a pregame party for Jerry's Kids;
T Boone and the Big W among them.

Quick cut
to Jamie's
new movie
Rio.
(I wonder if its
about Mexicano's
crossing the river?)

Wealth
Power
the perfect
image of ourselves
take a pill

I am Limitless
a new movie?
I've seen this one before.
I think I'm watching it now.

Just Go With It
Adam *******,
Jennifer Aniston
Americas sweetheart
teamed with Americas
kosher jokester.

He looks hot
in his droopy
pretend
don't give a ****
orange sweatshirt
and acid washed jeans.

Jennifer's ****, legs
what can you say
about America's sweetheart?
I think Brad Pitt
made a big mistake.

Bill O
is next.
Posturing,
arm wrestles
with the Prez,
shadow boxes
with the Big O.

"Muslim Brotherhoods
Rendition
Mubarack goes off the reservation
knows where the bodies are buried"
***!
***!

(Do we really need a dose of Fox Fear?
Is there no escape from the pernicious harangue?
Don't they know its Super Bowl Sunday?)

Bill O's drive by continues,
"Obamacare,
why do Americans hate you?"
Great journalism by this Fox ****.

Bill O is
haughty,
arrogant,
disrespectful
a despicable bully
and a self serving blow hard.

(My bladder is busting.
Its a great time to take a ****.)

We escape to
the freshness
of Owen Wilson's
smiling face,
playing two hand touch.

His bent nose
shining
he trots about
Jerry's field
carefree as a child.
(Is this a pitch, pass and punt
contest for A Listers?)

Other stars
join the light fun;
goose cheerleaders
give the cabana boys
hand-jobs
and themselves
a well earned blow-job.

Its an **** of photo ops
product placement
a sizzling collection
of dancing brands
prancing on the gridiron
of the New Cowboy field.

Ashton Kutcher
peeks over the shoulder
of a tweeting W.
I'm impressed
W knew
how to use
his thumbs.

Mrs. W's
permanent smile
was clearly visible
from the stadiums
cheapest seats.

Condie sat
way to the right
quietly stewing
lamenting
lost opportunities
of a gig as NFL
Commissioner.

On the stadiums floor
the frenetic dancing
of the
bumping
brands
fast
approaches
ecstatic elation.

Hollywood's version of
Whirling Dervishes; is
immediately stilled
as the solemn portion
of the program
commences.

The Declaration of Independence
is read by a bright galaxy of stars
accompanying armed service personnel
and other diligent American's.

"We hold these truths
to be self evident"

"United colonies
levee war,
dissolve bounds,
our day of allegiance
lives, fortunes and sacred honor
freedom is common sense,
free, equal, united"

CEO's
imprisoned
in Jerry's
luxury boxes
overcome
with
emotion
pound fists
on the glass
smearing
cocktail sauce
on the windows
of the suites.

Illegal
Chicano's
bravely
step forward
with rolls
of Bravo
and Windex
to wipe
it clean.

The focal point
of festivities
seismically
shifts like a
tectonic plate
almost as large
as Jerry's Stadium.

The stampede
of cheers
thunder like
canon shots,
the patriotic
ramparts of
militant
free market
capitalism
supplants the
shallow frivolity
of consumer slavery.

We are
compelled
to kneel
to celebrate a
Eucharist of
nationalism.

My partner explodes,
"Can't watch a football game
and view it for what it is,
a ******* football game."

The Fox
broadcasters
dedicate
this segment
of the show
to our military.

I squirm in my seat.
Sorry,
but the declaration is about
free people in free societies
not militarism.

Next up
dis old cowboy
Sam Elliot.
He knows
how to speak
the language
of real football fans.
Finally, a man of the people.

Sam introduced the cities.
He starts with Pittsburgh.

"Built on steel
a place where
terrible is good
these are the
enduring qualities
of this great American City."

The Steelers
make a timely entrance
onto the floor of the stadium,
as millionaires erupt
shaking their terrible towels.

Sam's
fuax
folkism
for
Fox Sports
continued.

"Green Bay is Title Town
the people never quit.
Crafty veterans are winners
exhorting all to greatness"

Images
of Lombardi's
toothy grin
fills my 72 inch screen.
A visitation by
America's Saint,
the sanctifier
of all competition
anoints the proceeding,
the quest to claim
the trophy named
for the games
very own
Archangel
of the
Gridiron.

The extended gig of
Lombardi's ghost
has haunted America
for over half a century;
has reportedly been seen
stalking the stage
on Broadway.

The anointed
Packers sprint
onto the field and
millionaire cheese heads
taking big bites out of life
erupt in cheers.

My hi def wide screen
made by Sharp reports
Battle of Los Angeles
opens 3/11/11.
The Chicago Code
premiers on Fox
sometime in March.

Walter Payton
Man of The Year Award
is presented
to an NFL Player
watching the game
with the troops
in Iraq.

The millionaires
don't cheer,
but the Fox announcers
are verklempt
overcome with patriotism.

Michelle Lee,
star
of Fox'***** show
Glee,
poses in front of a
sanitized choir
in blue uniforms to sing
America the Beautiful.

The beautiful song
is but an opening act
for the musical centerpiece
Star Spangled Banner.

The cameras cut
to a smiling W.
He can't get into Switzerland
but ******, he won't be turned out
of JJ's OK Corral.

Christina Aguilera
takes center stage.
She mounts
the silver football
crowning the
Holy Logo of the NFL
to sing the hallowed
Star Spangled Banner.

She fumbles her lines!
She forgot the rockets red glare!
The Steelers are crying.
The Packers are angry.
Ice melts from the stadiums roof.
The foundations of Jerry Jones
new stadium shakes.

A fly over of 4 fighters in formation
appears to be unaffected by the flub.
The planes do not crash.
They stay in formation.

The pilots spare Christina
a strafing and drone strike.
The republic remains
secure for now.

An unfamiliar announcer
addresses TV land.
He offers an apology to the fans
who cannot be seated.

The fire marshals
have revoked
Jerry's seating plan.
Greed got the better
of this man of the people.
Cowboy Stadium
is overbooked!

What is happening?
Is this America?
An ATT commercial
arrives just in time.

ATT has a new plan for America.
They encourage us to live social
with the new ATT AG.
Free market solutions
always work best.

Michael Douglas
reads another
patriotic exhortation.

"United we,
see the journey
of Acme Packers
as our journey."

"We see the resolve
of US Steel
as our resolve.
Big dreams
believe the best
journeys are
celebrated together."
(I'm down with that.
Whats good for Jerry Jones
is still good for me.
Right On! Check this stadium.
Power to the people!
It may not apply to the people who
will not be seated but tough nuggies.
This is America ******. Everybody
can't be seated at the table.
Even if they paid for their seat.
This ain't Red China.)

Neon Dion and other inductees
into the Football Hall of Fame
tosses the coin.
Steelers' call tails.
Heads it is.

At half time
The Black Eyed Peas
descend from
an upper Valhalla.

Still attired in
black fascist threads
The Righteous Peas
start wailing as
white metallic minions
dressed as
Imperial Storm Troopers
gallop to surround
their idols.

Precise formations
goose steppin bops
choreographic steps
the visceral *****
perfect counter-point
to swabbles of wiggling Peas.

Slash,
Guns and Roses
guitar hero
gunslinger
strode on stage
winging
this gal of mine
in choreographed
unison with
the leggy
Fergie.

Pumping it louder
the spectacle incites
the dancing
Imperial minions
quick steppin
and fetchin it
as Usher descends
in white unison
to leap and dance
over nasty
black peas.

The Gods
are descending
upon us.
Their words
have become
flesh.

The BEP's bleat
"kids are dying
wheres the love?"
Art does mirror life.

The neon hearts
of cheap
glow sticks
light up
the time
of our lives.

We are
cubed box heads
happily dancing along
the 50 yard line
answering China's
resounding drum
of frantic proletarians
bashing away
neocolonial disgrace
during the opening
ceremony of the worlds
greatest Olympian
display of
the pounding will
of an emerging nation
arriving on the world stage
with urgent insistence.

In America
we party on
every night
swiping
revoked
credit cards
for express lane
exits at the
local Walmart.

We are proud
highly personal
bar codes!

We refuse to be
marked down and flung
into discount bins at a
Tupelo Dollar Store.

Our light of life
flashes across screens
directing the trading pits
at the Chicago Board of Trade.

Each Super Bowl Sunday
souper bowl beggars
collect canned soup
for hungry Americans
at the local Shop and Drop

begging for larmen
boxes of Kraft
freeze dried noodles
and cans of Progresso
the feast of kings

A triumph
of the
Will I Am
BOOM BOOM
Says
Will I Am

I finish my bag of
Cool Ranch Doritos
and lick my partners
fingers clean.

You Tube Music Video:
Black Eyed Peas
Joints and Jam

2/7/11
Oakland
jbm
(WIP)
Ugo Nov 2012
We sipped boulder rock from refrigerators doors
and watched the heavens hand out food stamps with IBM logos.
“ode to Mehmet” we sang, and licked the Mossberg—
fixating on the blue collar philosophy that lived in our empty wallets.

Trash cans filled with water bottles stared at us to find our essence—
the one we had lost while being fed quintessential American idioms
in state-of-the-art classrooms sponsored by slaves and Popol Vuh blood.

Six million years of human existence trivialized down to a single sentence—
* Man loved God, man wrote, man conquered God, and now man loves science* —
scribbled on SmartBoards afforded by fire burning from Prometheus’ female liver.

Trees sing with oxygen no more for the sake of making paper,
and eyes soak in the words on paper for the sake of making paper.
Trees make the avenue but the future holds an Avenue of no trees—
… for in the land of the free, anything but freedom ain’t free.
Robdejong Nov 2013
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vircapio gale Oct 2013
he tickled me with love
i imagine
behind his merciless
IBM grin
sadistic chuckle

my grandfather loved me
built me a swing
a wooden airplane
gave me a bicycle
a cape to wear
he taught me pong and pitfall

wielding a brush-broom
handlebar-moustache
a favorite game of his was giving raspberries
testing limits
his iron fingers
wringing squeals of laughter sour
under breathless ribs
tear-eyed begging fits

his old white t-shirt
too small to hide his plump
hairy belly,
i'd tickled him there once
poked him where my cousins pointed
giggling

when the kick came
i felt it in the heart
more than the back of my knee
bent from the sudden
sneering force

when i asked him
years later
for a book from his dying bookshelf
he joked with a growl
the last emphysemic sentence i remember
he said to me
you gonna bring it back when you're done?

i remember
the rules of the tickle game
and love him back
for his sarcasm
firecrack generosity




.
"Jonathan Livingston Seagull' is a novel by Richard Bach
Lawrence Hall Apr 2019
A Secretary-Receptionist Faces the Future - “I Know Where the Door Is, You Little Police Academy Dropout.”

The name on the building changed again today
I must apply for my own job, they say
A smarmer wants more work for much less pay
It’s time to reconstruct my resume’

I once was great with videotape and film
And could type fifty-five words a minute
On an IBM Selectric; my skills are dim
The boy-boss taps on a plastic box - what’s in it?

For forty years I ruled the company’s ground floor -
Security, with a sneer, shows me the door
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Lawrence Hall Oct 2018
-Houston Chronicle, 10.1.2018

A robot wandered the mean streets alone
While lighting up and smoking his last transistor
Remembering an IBM long gone
“Buy me a WD-40, mister?”

A ****** thermostat took him to Radio Shack
And talked about some Texas Instruments she knew
A Compaq sent them to a room out back -
“Do ya wanna undo my phillips *****?”

He paid the thermostat some gigabytes

And then…

He was mugged by a relay who put out his lights
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Computing
A laser beam for shooting dragons off the wall
Falling
Into one more hard drive night
A bit
A byte
A slight adjust and then you might meet Mario
and off we go
into another game
A frame of mind upon the L.E.D
The screen that blows a kiss to me
In any colour I can see.

How free I am
Google and spam for tea
and I will be
whatever the computer can desire
set ladies hearts afire
with descriptive text
and digital ***.
Who is there that does not own
An IBM or mobile phone?
We're all without
within the worldwide web
Laying in the spiders bed and waiting
to be fed to her.
Press share,
if you like.
Marshal Gebbie Dec 2013
'Twas the night before Christmas--Old Santa was ******.
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind to scrap the whole works!

I've busted my *** for **** near a year,
Instead of 'Thanks Santa'--what do I hear?
The old lady ******* cause I work late at night.
The elves want more money--The reindeer all fight.

Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids.
Donner is pregnant and ***** has AIDS.
And just when I thought that things would get better
Those ******* from the IRS sent me a letter,
They say I owe taxes--if that ain't **** funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money?

And the kids these days--they all are the pits
They want the impossible--Those mean little *****
I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds
Assembling dolls...Their arms, legs and heads
I made a ton of yo yo's--No request for them,
They want computers and robots...they think - I'm IBM!

Flying through the air....dodging the trees
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees
I'm quitting this job there's just no enjoyment
I'll sit on my fat *** and draw unemployment.

There's no Christmas this year now you know the reason,
I found me a blonde. I'm going SOUTH for the season
Zulu Samperfas Jan 2013
1984, my new Macintosh 512K gleamed before me
So modern.  I was on the cutting edge cusp of the techno revolution
I remember the sound it made as you put in the start up disk
That disk was so small, like smaller than a 45 record and stiff like a credit card

We were all so techno.  
Everyone who was anyone in my dorm had ditched their IBM Selectrics for a Mac.
I couldn't type, so this was a total just plain survival
Being able to sleep through the sound of that dot matrix printer pounding out
a paper you'd just finished at 9 AM for a 10 AM class became a dorm life skill

I got an i-phone today.  It's so kool and modern
I am so techno and I look around the
Verizon store and wonder how quaint a picture of this place will look
in 50 years.
What will be new then?
This store will look like the computer that filled a warehouse to send astronauts to the moon.
And it's that technology that gave me the i-phone
What lasts?  
Ideas, meaning, poems, concepts, stories, universal truths...the same things
the ancients could carry with them from camp to camp
C S Cizek Dec 2014
Man, if there was ever a time
where those two hands mattered
more than just pointing
out the obvious or tracing vague
memories on paper in swoops,
zig-zags, draw-backs, or the capital
cursive "Q" that still eludes me, it's
now. 6:26 A.M., and I haven't slowed
down since 9:20 yesterday
when my girlfriend gallivanted
about her room, her ******* perked
before me.
*******, she looked so good.
We, my friends and I,—the ones
I wrapped in cellophane and tissue
paper two years ago to take
out, reminisce, and put back
whenever I forgot their faces—
got in my boat of a car / bathroom
tile white / and drove through
thick I-80 fog to search South
Side for Santa's front rotor biplane
dropping Christmas joy mustard
gas down molded-brick, soot-caked
chimneys to get people in the mood
for a day or two before the egg nog's
spiced *** negligee stopped feeding
their stocking stuffer lungs and the blisters
that decked the halls like boughs of death.
Then we sat—I, uncomfortably on my car
keys,—by the bar, drinking refills that filled
the IBM-print bill $60 worth of Sprite Pepsi
Huckleberry Lemonade. My one friend
leaned over our cornucopia of unfinished
wings and said that he and the bartender
had been exchanging loaded gun glances.

Neither would ease the trigger,
or even aim well.

She could've been eyeing the waitresses
working the floor like a dart game.
Sharp when your drink's low and feathered
by pathetic tips. We stopped by Lyco. Lynn—
softly steeled—still sung her circular saw blues.
Baby, don't cut me so deep. Just let my girders
meet the street. Let me feel small trees and admire
nice cars signing their makes in last week's thin snow.
We took away two cups of coffee, some Modernist talk,
and a salt & pepper flannel past Market, Maynard,
and slowly spoiling milk to the Mansfield exit.
Over the occasional window defrosting,
we talked premature families, North Carolina
classmates, prison sentences, and that MU
***** who hates my guts. They're out there,
and we're here in this box going seventy-five
and skipping exits like rope.
Double-dutch dual-enrollment college credit
transfers, losing Foundation money talks
****, but can't leave her grudges on the rock
salt steps we sulked up. Hallways with
carpets and our cars parked poolside,
but we chose air conditioning over breast-
strokes. My God, would some lonely preteens
**** for that. Metal detectors to detect
our insecurities and greasy faces full
of acne acne potential. Potential some
didn't use. Potential that went wasted.
Potential that could've gotten them out
of this miserable hole, but instead rented
them out a sad shack on the outskirts—
nowhere near suburbs—of town
where they could inhale
the Ox Yoke's smoke stack laying fog
down to the county line.
Galeton High School, regrettably,
here's to you.
The longest poem I've ever written. Hopefully the last about this town.
Rachel Keyser Nov 2016
In 1972, the Fourth Dragon King of Bhutan created the concept of Gross National Happiness, a new index measuring different areas of life quality. He said, “the essence of the philosophy of Gross National Happiness is the peace and happiness of our people, and the security and sovereignty of the nation.”

The Dragon King was brave with his wisdom. He spoke the truth against the prevailing myth of our time. He dared to ask questions sage in their foundations. What does it mean to live a fulfilling life? What does a successful community look like? How do we answer these questions knowing what we know about our own humanity?

Asking those questions was like coming home again from the rain, and wondering why you had ever left. An act in response to the desperate yearning to be human. A truth so clear, it has been embraced by dozens of other countries.

But not by the United States of America. We are big, and we influence others, not the other way around. We are powerful, and everyone knows it. We are successful, and we know it.

We worship, and ask, and measure the things that matter.

As Adam Smith said, “No society can surely be flourishing and happy of which by far the greater part of the numbers are poor and miserable.”

We measure the things that matter.

What is the essence of the philosophy behind Gross National Product? In the words of Robert Kennedy, “It measures everything in short, except that which makes life worthwhile.”

We have defined success by that which we are able to hold in our hands. We have done so to our very core. We have done so to our most vulnerable. We have done so to our most educated.

In 2011, Amy Chua (the Tiger Mom), laid a truth so bare we could not look away. By her own admission, her tough tactics were simplified and misunderstood: “If I could push a magic button and choose either happiness or success for my children, I’d choose happiness in a second.”

The Tiger Mom would choose happiness for her children, and yet they still would not be successful.

We like to pretend that we don’t play this game, but she played so fervently, we could not look away. We like to pretend that perfect SAT scores, endless club affiliations, mastery of languages and instruments, athletic prowess, social grace, and an unwavering commitment to the community—that those things come naturally from the pursuit of a well-balanced, genuine teenage life. We like to pretend that we are not Excellent Sheep.

But we believe that we measure the things that matter.

From the Stanford-Binet IQ, to the Army Alpha Test, to the first ever SAT in 1926 we have used our creative engines to reduce our humanity to the likes of a No. 2 pencil. After the 1936 invention of the IBM 805—the first electronic test scanner—we would ever more become distinctive only in our conformity.

Uniform in our goals and our language, and everything else that comes in between. Echoed again and again, Bill & Melinda say, success in education is to obtain labor-market value. At least we’re honest about that. What other kinds of success could we imagine without other kinds of values? There is no magic button, there is only the stark white wall of reality that will hit you, hard, when you’re 16 or 18 or 22. And you better be prepared.

But did you know that statistically people are equally as happy one year after winning the lottery as they are one year after becoming paraplegic? Despite our 3lbs brains and large prefrontal cortexes, we are not good at imagining the conditions of our own contentment. We are only good at imagining the future of the stark white wall and the non-existence of the magic button.

Maybe, then, before we imagine anymore, we need to remember. To remember what it’s like to come home again from the rain, and wonder why you had ever left.  Maybe, then, we can finally be brave, and ask, like the Fourth Dragon King of Bhutan, What is the root of the root and the bud of the bud?

Maybe, then, we will measure the things that matter.
wordvango Jan 2016
my girlfriend wants me
to give her away at her wedding,
I learned Fortran and Cobol
right before IBM made the PC,
the week after I played 2, 11, 13, 20, 29, 38 on the lottery,
those numbers hit,
I sunk my life savings in Enron
the week the Feds raided,
my psychologist told me it's
all exterior, no such thing, she said ,
on her way home walked into the path of a bus,
thank god for my rabbit's foot in
my pocket, and the **** **** hanging around my neck,
and the four leaf clovers I wallpapered my living room with,
I mean , can it get worse?
Lawrence Hall Jan 2018
Is the End Near for Religion?

-news item

No one will ever acknowledge a MePhone
As the Lord of the universe, or as
The Creator from before created time
Born of an IBM Selectric

True plastic of true limited resources,
Sing Advent hymns unto an Apple II,
Whisper aves on a strand of transistors,
Or genuflect before a Model T

No consecration will ever obtain
Upon the altar of a microchip
Paul Hardwick Jun 2013
Like plastic soldiers
in a row
A gust of truth
and down they go like leaves

Sailing through this hour glass
the future *mingles
with the past
The writing hand runs out of ink
and IBM runs out of blink

*WAr
iS
Just
a
state
of
TiME
Wk kortas Mar 2018
****, they may as well have started holding hands
And making paper dolls together,
The way they carried on
Back in the neighborhood after push came to shove,
Like none of it ever happened:
All the times they spit on us,
The constant **** and ******* and goya,
The ***-kickings if we went one alley too far.
Peace didn’t last; hell, it couldn’t
It’s just the way things have to be, man.
If I ever got in front of some parole board
(Not that I’ll ever have that chance,
As I ain’t goin’ anywhere unless they send me
To Auburn or Attica for some change of pace)
This is what I’d tell ‘em:
You come home to your nice house
In your tidy little sub-development
After a day at Corning or IBM,
And you find out that some punk
Has ******* one of your daughters
And stuck a shiv into her quarterback boyfriend,
What are you gonna do if you find him
Hiding in one of your neighbor’s rosebushes?
Exactly. Save the taxpayers the expense of a trial.

Musta been a year, maybe eighteen months ago,
This bunch of goody-goody types,
All social workers and sweet boys,
Show up here to put on some **** play
Where this guy’s uncle kills his dad
And starts puttin’ the blocks to his mom,
And for hours it’s nothing but yak, yak, yak.
And I’m thinking Man, could you just ice the guy, already.
Let me tell you, I’ve never seen ‘Nardo’s ghost
(Let alone that ******’ ******’s one)
But if he ever shows,
It ain’t gonna be to accuse me of nothin’;
No, he’d smile and shake my hand,
Because I did what the code said you gotta do.  
Just what the code said.
Paul Hardwick Jan 2017
Feel after time
I have to flush away the blues
you give me with your soul
your so negative
why ask me why is always you
was it not me
that told you so
what is wrong with you
You are like an IBM
It has to be so clear
work out the ******* maths
is that what you want
sorry I say that so clear
I can not be
what you want me to be
for I am the man
ticket to the moon
and I am a groundhog
sniff around
as I lay dying
still, the seasons of this world go around
as in my memory


B U T  Fu ckin  Pull that chain.
Ipsofacto P@ul.
Dreams committed suicide.
Skirts worn on a low aside.
I could write you a song but I'm afraid it sounds like others.
The reflection of a glare that leaves the dark side of life.
For you were told that's the bad side of life.


Whatever you think about
speak about
you create about.
That's your power.
What is it this power.
That I cannot define but simultaneously express and simplify using reduction
setting aside marking the difference with a countless vision and division between a rope tied binding our minds.


They say you a *****.
I'm in love with you.
You a keeper.
A soul that seeks equilibrium with love and self
Isn't that a parallel play ?
A fine wrath with a critical eye
My job is to give you what you want.


My jaw always think about change.
Isn't that a deep failure of human complexity.
Our knowledge is inversely proportional to the truth.
Earth.
Life.
Are you a brain teaser?
You vain.
You raucous.
The system is upon us.
Imaginary is trying to rationalise stupid phrases.
What if you just a phrase.
Is your name insane or sane.
That was rhetorical.
You renounce my emancipation.


History told me who you are.
It told me you a perplexed dogma.
A rapid rotation in a circular form.
You take half the turn, You don't maximise your circumference, double your radius and square your diameter.
Clarity.
Enlarge your area.
You Ying in the Yang.


Your humor is designed to accommodate those who seek knowledge first.
Such a disturbing environment.
Death examines the cost of the land.
Awkward mournings are only recorded in our minds.
I don't need a piece of paper to trust you.
I don't deserve a ride.
I know how and when to trust.


I'd be skeptical.
How many times have you killed and left wounds lazy to heal.
See, with my abilities in life, I'm satisfied because I can't return them.
Unless I alter them.
Life is an act of offering services and products in exchange of capital charge per item.
My life charged me 5 adroit items:
• Independence.
• Brilliance.
• Maturity.
• Progress.
• Cash.
(IBM-PC)
In the end...
You just a set of events.
I define you.
You just a set of words.
Only self defined and irrationally undefined.
In between the blue light
and electro magnetic field
is
black man
on the radio (waves)
and t.v.
-the show
does not need no lucifer
telescope
and *******
is
the Church
building
benine futurism
and no Antichrist
is
those older IBM computers
data
not DNA
but what is a mind
when the brain shrinks?

Cellphone, microchip, and android...



© S. Wesley Mcgranor
1/3/2020
https://techcrunch.com/2017/07/18/google-glass-is-back-with-hardware-focused-on-the-enterprise/
Starry Aug 2019
This person is
Beautiful as a super model
Brain IBM
Strong
Proud
And
Is the domonantrix of
Her life
Confidence through the roof.
Ken Pepiton Jul 7
Party line. Crazy conversation from a true believer,
left me feeling kinda prickly, so I got this high,
and looked back on all I was told to watch out...
Amen,
Indeed, at the mental sylabble, said meaningfully,
as mental activity, per se, aspiring to inspire, you,

dear reader,
the imaginary other,
on the other side of all I think we see,

when we look, this way, back through
this medium we mindtouch through,
thought through rough or furbished,

with a will to make a thing, a way
is often made known, as if we think a way

say, what if,
say wonder, the verb, we use, we know,
we make believe we can see it so,

just so, right,
as when we know
which hand to use, you know,

we swing our sensitivities, around
wondering how long one alone
would need to read all that has been

told known, put into the cloud as evidence,
any willing mind, taken to core as good manners,
and profitable methods to bore less as chores,
using knowledge originally intended unknowable,
by creator's perogative, declared, there'll be,

something, hellish, yes, where does that idea
reside, that sure knowledge, that we are all ******,

unless, yes, more or less, a few, feel the call to know,
eh,
why or how, eh

daily ordering of our domicile,
daily letting this mind be in thee, or me,
depending on the way the integral tale is told.
What ties ligament to bone?
In some situations,
there you are, thinking why you think at all,
and as you do, you think you did, so what.

Now, what, if we have wondered, now what
is what we got, for that effort, if you ever wondered

how the whole situation,
the cloud containing all the vastest data banks,
news draw interesting times from, for your attention,

click, and repeat, recall, the history of me, since
my first IBM readable responces on all 500 hats,
Red Ryder B.B. gun hangs on my wall, still yet,
child mind slips, slides us past the pressure,
feel the evolved will, to pass the scribal exams,
1954 baseline Achievment Test data, grade one,
first task, make thy own rural pen,
wait, now, make thy own smooth surface,
invent a reader for the marks to mean a thing…

- see, the kind of minds we have for use,
- literally all the learning proven conservable
- is at our fingertips, if you can read this now,
- some actual agency granted this technology

to flourish in families, for centuries, before we all
had access to this wave of wisdom, a dominion of ways,
perspectives on precepts used to shelter

ways to use sticky mud,
ways to use dry straw,
ways to use hot sun to dry fruits,

too far back to feel survival skills
sufficient to believe, life uses luck,
and words we both can use,
we believe we
have being in this atmosphere,
on the planet, third from that ordinary star,
only planet known beyond any doubt, where

what we are quantized particles at identifiable
points in the history of all that we, the information,
we, the persons involved at the evidence retrieval,

- the ceremony,
- ya'll come, we gather to retell our children,
- this is what we were when America was great,

We had the whole world in our pocket, Ike knew,
you know he knew, the monstors men can imagine,

when it comes to winning wars, primary purpose
along a chosen duty path to high value human status,

like a king, power,
under the highest commonly conceived,

authority. The writing on the wall.

Secret sacred excremental waste, ah,
***** plaistered walls in that awe-ful Irish gaol.

We all saw it, on telly, as true as Donald Trump…
we all see the *****, and we all hear those who eat it,
swearing it does smack of the promises to the righteous.

Made by a couple of Cromwellian Prime Servants.
The Blessed Few are duty bound to rule the disorder,

form a line, dollop of self con, fiduciary response, set
nil, no clue, nothing funny, Donald Trump is loveable,

easily as cuddly as Harvey Weinstein, party goers say.
I think one who donates money to either candidate is working from an agenda.
And I disagree with all the excuses they use for themselves/ we must have better choices for the role.
SnowingOdin7 Sep 2019
Hopefully I find a decent jazz artist. I know one... Or Ibm a mix of components
Suffocation experienced analogous
to absent echocardiogram
or electroencephalogram blip
(Derek Chauvin - he of
George Floyd infamy) iron maiden grip
linkedin with psyche subjected
to laceration courtesy cruel horse whip
mine inexcusable
(albeit clueless faux pas)
family members living social in Bend, Oregon
and Oakland, California did yip
private information across cyberspace did zip.

Apology (ex post facto)
extended regarding about
mine guilt ridden conscience
programming mental state
think sufferable infinite
jesting Möbius strip
casting dark shadow of doubt
looping along outer limits
of twilight zone
futilely shucking off
emotional tailspin (kamikaze) fallout
impossible mission
unable to muzzle or thwart lout

who poetically blurts out
simian old routine programmed
erroneously heavily incorrectly
peppers entire Hollerith
or IBM punched cards
yielding botched defenseless redoubt,
when Yankee doodles dandy
teapot short and stout
convection currents trigger
whistle Dixie when liquid piping hot
a microcosm concerning plate tectonics
across webbed wide world
yielding necessary oomph
to migrating trout.

Absent awareness
flourished amidst ignorance
sixty plus shades of gray matter
hotly doth smolder and burn
unbeknownst rancor did furiously churn
when yours truly divulged
he made aborted attempt
to couch his genuine
paternal care and concern
lack of discrimination
and judgment I did not
(honest to dog) recognize nor discern.

Understandable blameworthy
grievance against me,
not granted app parent permission
thus culpability I obediently yield
words that sparked hurt
now utilized to wield
heft to communicate authentic love
(cryptically coded)
and hermetically sealed
hopefully in due time
mine discretion well healed.

Comeuppance generated
desire to **** self awoke
resolution to make amends
bedevils this bloke
who deservedly receives just desserts
invisible hand doth choke
living daylights, hence
nightmare scenario I evoke.

Following objective forthwith
pained papa doth aim
constitutes feeble attempt made
to reach out and accept blame
reckless transgression
to spout warrants claim
if religious, thence within perdition

while still alive
mine flesh set fire to flame
analogous to burnt offering
even that sacrifice considered lame
imposed upon lovely bones,
I cannot utter nor name
one garden variety primate repurposed
thru cremation his cruelty destiny will tame.

Awfulness permeates nerve wracked soul,
because behavior concerning yours truly
hashtagged boneheaded rogue
(as easily attested to courtesy the missus),
indiscriminately sharing sensitive information
innocently celebrating their joys and sorrows
concerning welfare of deux biological chicas 
which pathetic body, mind and spirit triage
attributed to where fool rushed into
where angels fear to tread.

No ambition, exertion, inspiration... arose
these last few days melancholy grows
a brief lull occurred,
whereby lack of crafting poems or prose
insync engulfed and teed off par
for the course
stainless steel pitch forked shows
with mettlesome irony
(perhaps witnessed
by dearth of posting)
finding me figuratively pitched
upon horns of dilemma.

Far from human league,
(more'n mark twain fathoms
into deep purple troubled waters)
I flounder amidst flotsam and jetsam
mankind receding toward lost horizon adios
at sea within Lake lachrymose
moody blue foo fighting
wretched beastie boy feels morose.

Subsequent diminution to write,
nevertheless mustered
aforementioned reasonable rhyme
attempting to describe psychological plight
thru arranging words, I take flight.

— The End —