Many waking up from the American dream,
realizing all we manufacture is drama
nowadays, put back to sleep by digital stream
of unconsciousness - psychic bombard lacks comma
in this exclamatory period. A deep
fog has rolled in off the edges of existence,
debilitated by depression often - steep
inclines betweens highs and lows, futile resistance
to social contract recessions committed. Still,
in bed at night I stare up at well-stained drywall
and wonder "is it worth it?" Far less check than bill
these days; far less hope we'll sustain more growth than stall.
Speaking of stall, perhaps sad due to livestock state,
and exceptional consumption ain't all that great.
1 comment:
dying dreams we'll never see.
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