we can do better

the sun is
nothing more than
an incandescent
and the wind
that blows
is a scourge
against sensible
values in this
modern age

the grass
has the gumption
to wither
when there are
perfectly good
weeds willing
to grow in concrete
and that says
just about enough
politicians in
expensive suits
playing ukuleles
in subways
to fund wars
in foreign lands

thank you very much
but that isn’t
enough to refreeze
the equatorial
ice caps that threaten
to flood the coast

perhaps the world
has passed me by
a smear under
the oppressive
with a god complex
glaring down
at my ludicrous defiance

we can do better
or so the dying hippie
in tattered tye dye
keeps yelling
with a kazoo
hanging like
an unlit cigarette
from his sore riddled mouth
as he stomps about
cymbals tied to
his torn bellbottoms
making an uproarious
cacophony that assaults
every sense at once

i long
to swim with
the sharks
off the coast
of new guinea
raw meat stapled
to my flesh
just so i can
feel alive
after so long
encased in glass
i am no pretty
poetic peacock
espousing witty
prose to appease
the throbbing masses

i am dander
listlessly drifting
to a better
but i appear
to be stuck

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