"Putting the Big Picture on a Leash"
Who am I
but a man with goals?
Your animosity towards me suspends belief
The catalyst, for oatmeal in a bowl
changed to something gem-metric,
A sequential transference of the old me
for a new Luxury and Commodity Me.
Mostly mindful me,
clouded by reason droughts.
Dry spells in good decision-making.
Me, the star of my own conduit
taking place in the Gliese constellation
surrounded by flashing red dwarfs,
like police lights, or galactic probes
just when I thought with my whole heart that I had the
brie in my palm
A direct connoisseur
before blood money crept onto the stage
and doctors of a Morality Machine began to scramble
in their Jacuzzi laboratory,
shouting “Choices! Choices! Choices!”
I heed their multiple heinous requests
without the foggiest idea of why there’s fog in ideas
or why it’s supposedly raining cats and dogs
but not vermin and polluted Sasquatch breath?
Me. So enamored with cultural fixations
is the way to describe a society built on park benches
with flashy advertisements laminated upon them
Promises of this ‘Dream Advent’
coming to your doorstep
Coming to your planetariums, your reality scopes
Your critical thinking workshops
exclusive vacation slideshow where
malaise utopias are shown through bifocals without crosshairs
and when you come to,
You realize that those 15 seconds of fangs and fortitude
never contributed to the solitaire game of your bloodline
The pool is further soaked scarlet.
They’ll name ant farms after your failed colonialism.
They’ll make a silent film about your scars.
They’ll give your “face” value.
You need placards like me
You need peepholes like me
So you can point your Dublin fingers…
…and say, that’s the magpie.
In : Poetry