April the Three

the urge to self-medicate is strongest when one

realizes the life they are trapped in is boring

holes of dullard thought where great notions once had sprung,

now buried beneath daily detritus, storing

dreams for future dates never realized in real time,

so sober don’t feel real fine, plus my mind’s inclined

to rewind through reels of stored moments with no rhyme

or reason for reflection of past intertwined

uncomfortably with here and now - furrowed brow

tenses from my temporal lobes overloading

from cortisol exploding with no knowing how

to calm down the process of conscience eroding,

and I’m left here, idle of spirit, left to think

about how easily it all blurs with a drink

sustainable farming practiced by well-endowed

individuals changing the world leisurely

with compassion, rejected roots of which they’re proud

to break free from, yet their world defined by purely

living in ways not accessible by lesser

classes herded in masses far beyond the gates

where utopias erupt for sheltered pleasure,

available at well-advanced luxury rates

for those who have achieved cognitive awareness

of true human potential, combined with raw wealth

where one can afford to live free of unfairness,

and without poor resentment if done in good stealth;

are we sustaining improvement of folks at-large,

or enabling the survival of those in charge?

There are new zines at the Thousand Feathers zine shop in the right sidebar, issues three and four which should be going into mailboxes later this week once I finish folding them up. Also Beerbox Haiku poetry book is still available and completely great, at the picture link to the right, available at Amazon as ebook or physical book you can hold in your hands. Probably going to start writing erotic post-apocalypse literature under a pen name exclusively moving forward, so not sure if that'll exist here or I'll keep it secret. I am everywhere, and yet also nothing; it's a strange existence I lead (or follow?).