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Image for the poem Out Is The New In

Out Is The New In


Out

Consumers become possessed by their possessions,
as a new, primeval wilderness arises,
made of apparel, objects, and electronic devices,
in measureless units that take the shapes of stones
into hands reaching up, either in want, need, or helpless variations,
staying afloat for one moment more in anticipation of what gizmo lies in store.

Sometimes, it seems that there is no hope,
in this postmodern society of buying & selling,
hellbent on multiplicitous multiplying & inflating,
beyond the point with which an individual can cope.

Sometimes… I would leave the house where I lived,
with food, three bottles of liquor in hand and a big ass bag of reefer
and I would go down to the woods, that have been preserved
tacitly, as they are more wasteland than anything or ever,
a place of reeds and weeds that that lived without being saved,
where quite ferocious fellows lived off of nothing, whatsoever,
with wild eyes reflecting the wild skies at its most depraved.

I would join them in their squats, under the bridge
that shook with blasted cars, basted between the ears
like static bee hives, that became, in time, a harmonious adage,
as I filled their cups, that were soup cans, used for years -
having multiple purposes, those being: drinking beer, drinking wine, drinking outage.

They were connoisseurs of savagery and reefer of the highest quality,
having taste tested Acapulco Gold, Tai Sticks, Mexican Sensimilla, Afghan,
which they knew I enjoyed hearing about, in between a cough professionally
expressed, yes, they knew that I preferred to listen, as the silent one,
and they accepted me, which I wore like invisible stripes, proudly, solemnly,
because it runs in the family, as my dad traveled out west on a train,
and ate rats in alleys, like the reality of naked & afraid, only gallantly.

This self made ceremony would go well into the point
when the wretched dawn was made beautiful by the moment,
thumbing our noses at lying dying society and all of that,
roundly condemned by these wild madmen who would not spit
if society was on fire, as there was a certain something about this that
inspired me, and made me remember to forget and not let
the bullshit…

In
Written by Cipher_O (WarlordoftheWrittenWord)
Published
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