From blinding reality and
The headlights of oncoming traffic
Road arrows stretch out like oracles
And reality is magnified
Where the signs are built
To be seen at fifty-five mph
Where Beauty takes a backseat to practicality
Which promptly veers off the road,
Blaming Beauty for its corruption of the youth
And their vagrancies upon its guiding.
A half-gone American spirit takes centre stage
And glows with breath.
Chick corea and Gary burton
Play in Zurich in 1975, muting the cars to a shimmering rumble
Through the muffling pads of worn old sonys
Whose cord pulls nagglingly,
Like an over-zealous misandrist whore douchebag
(like the poorly informed pseudofeminist revolutionaries with their impassioned Internet rants[fuck this pagination])
Through the pilfered university hoodie,
And they do so like solitary practice,
With their perfected panache.
The flames of the little fire snore woozily
With whispers of light flitting across the culdesac of the abandoned subdivision, A park in memoriam of the hushed dreams
Of some middle-class constructor
Who hoped to make it big in the housing boom,
And the hot tea does no such vaunted 'piping'
As I breathe in the cuordoroy smoke
- I'm one of these kids
These kids, so vicariously crouched at death's door,
Waiting to spring, like house cats perched at the border of the steel and masonry jungle Where dogs cannibalise and tigers roam free,
These kids we never see gritty stuff of substance and meaning,
Locked in styrofoam cages of status quo and heartfelt but ineffectual religion and politic And we think we do cause we run with some serious motherfuckers that got some shit goin on
Bitch, please, you couldn't conquer the wasteland of your mind,
Never mind the vast ambiguation of inner city Los Angeles,
Where these kids all play with guns and knives
And take each others' lives.
And you, the domineering middle class,
You couldn't be worse, letting these kids wander through life without wisdom, Without authentic experience and heartfelt hardship?
You are nothing of the kind of human you wish you could be.
Why would you wish to be more than human if you couldn't even be that?
Fuck you, Marvel.
And you make your kids sit in classrooms and read the lives' works
Of writers who spent their existences on the cold streets and alleyways of actuality With partners of questionable nobility
And you wonder where you went wrong?
You didn't fucking raise them wrong,
You just forgot to listen back.
And you buy the scientifically proven lotion produced by underpaid dermatologists And sold in bulk at Costco and while you're there you grab a load of mini quiches Nd you wonder why you have to juice detox to feel better.
Apples never went out of style.
Not that these kids are doing any better, But damnit they've got guts.