Would you really want the truth, if truth is a thing
And this “thing” truth said with certainty (as we’re sure it will)
That you are an unmitigated asshole?
A liar? A panderer? A ruthless survivor?
Truth is a universal remote
When we don’t like it, we change the channel
“Oh, zombies again”
And click.
In every gnash teeth, bullet vest narcissist
Anti-social, sociopath, tinpot, despot to the strong and infamous
Is the sneaking admiration of the legions sheep
With true love for their vulpine tormentors
In your bedroom and the boardroom
From the gleam of your blood on their chin
Spills the dreamy rictus grin of success
To stir the sanguine blood of the anemic do-gooders, one liners, and protest signers
In a world of pants down politicians and zero sum heroes
Nothing wins the bleeding heart like the iron-rich smell of success
Cuz we know about time
You and I, my lonesome only friend
The way dust collects like gray velveteen
on the tops of bathroom counters and behind the open doors
How we collect entropy like drooping dead roses
And obsolete promises
Pounding away on a tandy word processor
That makes a better doorstop than a tool
We know we’re not equal to the task
The timeline is behind us and picking up speed
We’re twenty minutes late to our own funerals
Fresh out of believable excuses
So stop talking, my friend
Smoke and smile and drink your drink
The gentle art of obsolescence is all we have left
Keep perfectly still like hipsters in amber
Stop breathing full circles
We may yet be the last asked to leave when closing lights flash to send the lost children home
You go first
I’ve got nothing
Play “he said/she said”
But he said it more
Party C and Value X
Plead the variable of Y
The “Why, oh why” of sweet human nature
Poison in the zephyr of the entropic sea
When he came back from the desert
He had lost the art of speaking
So we had to lean in closer
Pretending to hear
“Honesty is the only policy.”
If only we had more choices
Policies become corrupt in the name of civil service
A boy named Baxter
Lives on a Street of Clocks
Ticking down time
Sleeps on a bed shaped like dilemma
“Everyone hates me”, says the bed whever Baxter lays down to sleep.
Baxter respnds, “Find someone that truly loves you and you will be happier someday.”
That night instead of dreaming of gusts of wind
Baxter dreamed of giant hands
Jumping
Killing, screaming
“Love isn’t real!”
When Baxter woke he said, “Optimism is what feeds you.”
The bed responded, “People have their own opinions.”
SensibleUnsensible 