a fate worse than death
when you're
workin
for
minimum
wage
you're workin
for food
and shelter
and when
you're workin
for food
and shelter
you're a slave
I used to slave
away
at factories
where
the lighting
was so poor
you could
barely
keep
your hands
outta the
machinery
they used to
make me
run 40 hrs.
a week
in places
where it
got so hot
I thought
I'd end up
drowning
in my own
sweat
every day
felt like
a slow death
but somehow
I survived
so take it
from me:
minimum
wage
is modern-
day
slavery
and if
you don't
believe me
then go
and try it
yourself
sometime.
dusk
night falling over the city
I see the red lights
of phantom cars
and the people inside
don't know me
I wonder who I am myself
why I'm here
what it's all for
and where do the homeless
go when it gets cold
at night?
and maybe this is where
the spirit drifts
when the body dies
where it's always
ethereal dusk
always warm enough
and nobody ever needs
any blankets.
Ixion
some of us
end up in hell
and some of us
are born to it
and for the rest of you
stupid shits
reading all this:
there's the terror
and the joy
of all our marvelous
cackling laughter.
carpe diem
I’m often left alone
staring at my white hands
wondering what
they’re trying to say
there’s so much
sitting around
staring at the clouds
while dogs bark
down the street—
staring at the blue sky
while the wind blows
through the cold sunlight
and naked branches—
the digital clock
on my desk has no hands
just red neon numbers
that stare back at me
stupidly
and whoever said
carpe diem
was really full of shit
didn’t know
a damn thing about
anything
cuz it’s mostly just
sitting around
waiting for nuclear war
for the sun to fall
for the guardians of
national security
to come and take me
away—
HELP!
the hippies
who dreamt
of a starry
new
consciousness
of LSD
Shankar
and prayer beads
now lie
trampled in
the gutters
steamrolled
by the military-
industrial
zombieplex
run over by
the armored limo
of reality
in the
rabid-dog alleys
of America
where
the only truth
is the Greenback
the only virtue
is war
and the only sin
is compassion—
the hippies
of yesteryear
walk round
in a daze
wondering
what the fuck
happened
to the dream,
where the fuck
did it go?
the American dead in Afghanistan
the white trash let their dogs run around
in the street
I can't even go for a walk anymore
there's American flags everywhere
the other day
I was sitting at a picnic table
when two of them sat down
at the other end
after listening to their white trash conversation
for a while
I was forced to get up
and go sit somewhere else—
another indignity
I wondered what I ever did to the Gods
to make them punish me so
when I got home
I turned on my PC
read about the latest American dead in Afghanistan
that made me feel a bit better.
when you're
workin
for
minimum
wage
you're workin
for food
and shelter
and when
you're workin
for food
and shelter
you're a slave
I used to slave
away
at factories
where
the lighting
was so poor
you could
barely
keep
your hands
outta the
machinery
they used to
make me
run 40 hrs.
a week
in places
where it
got so hot
I thought
I'd end up
drowning
in my own
sweat
every day
felt like
a slow death
but somehow
I survived
so take it
from me:
minimum
wage
is modern-
day
slavery
and if
you don't
believe me
then go
and try it
yourself
sometime.
dusk
night falling over the city
I see the red lights
of phantom cars
and the people inside
don't know me
I wonder who I am myself
why I'm here
what it's all for
and where do the homeless
go when it gets cold
at night?
and maybe this is where
the spirit drifts
when the body dies
where it's always
ethereal dusk
always warm enough
and nobody ever needs
any blankets.
Ixion
some of us
end up in hell
and some of us
are born to it
and for the rest of you
stupid shits
reading all this:
there's the terror
and the joy
of all our marvelous
cackling laughter.
carpe diem
I’m often left alone
staring at my white hands
wondering what
they’re trying to say
there’s so much
sitting around
staring at the clouds
while dogs bark
down the street—
staring at the blue sky
while the wind blows
through the cold sunlight
and naked branches—
the digital clock
on my desk has no hands
just red neon numbers
that stare back at me
stupidly
and whoever said
carpe diem
was really full of shit
didn’t know
a damn thing about
anything
cuz it’s mostly just
sitting around
waiting for nuclear war
for the sun to fall
for the guardians of
national security
to come and take me
away—
HELP!
the hippies
who dreamt
of a starry
new
consciousness
of LSD
Shankar
and prayer beads
now lie
trampled in
the gutters
steamrolled
by the military-
industrial
zombieplex
run over by
the armored limo
of reality
in the
rabid-dog alleys
of America
where
the only truth
is the Greenback
the only virtue
is war
and the only sin
is compassion—
the hippies
of yesteryear
walk round
in a daze
wondering
what the fuck
happened
to the dream,
where the fuck
did it go?
the American dead in Afghanistan
the white trash let their dogs run around
in the street
I can't even go for a walk anymore
there's American flags everywhere
the other day
I was sitting at a picnic table
when two of them sat down
at the other end
after listening to their white trash conversation
for a while
I was forced to get up
and go sit somewhere else—
another indignity
I wondered what I ever did to the Gods
to make them punish me so
when I got home
I turned on my PC
read about the latest American dead in Afghanistan
that made me feel a bit better.
