Writing

Whimper

I have seen the last minds of my generation
Lost to mediocrity
Normalised
Stabilised
Fiscally rationalised
Mere echoes of humanity
The creatives of accounting
Gut busting
Soul rusting
Calorie counting
Silently shouting
And plugged in
Logged on
Drunk and fucked up
Diversely lucked out
And royally won over
Unbent to the common good
Unresolved to fight a fight
Not good, or bad or plain irreverant
Potentially potent
Oppressively opportunistic
Absurdity absolute
These have never been Beings but broad bent bullies of the intellect
Lamenting every attempt
Afraid to try less they fail
Too scared to dream less they fly
And never land
And stare straight into the grand ugly void of the newly conscious
The sign of life which bemoans the density of bouyant self-destructive transformation
Adrift in the wheel of the real
The whirled world
Spiralling ever farther from that heavenly host
Smashed like concrete
Twisted like steel
Filtered like dust
Into the gaping maw of the less of the less of the less of the less obvious
Like leopard print zebras
Drinking lemonade
From a clarinet
Melting like a sunday
Enduring like a Thursday
Backfilling the dock of ages
Flipping like the last high-wire trapese-man
Flat out like the rebellious tap dancer
Crumpled like a two-for-one voucher
Empty as a first generation ipod dock
Filtered like dust
Falling like an angel
Playing on light and shadow
Unseen and revealed
Lost and brilliant
Mediocre

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