THE PUNCHLINE OF OUR DISCARDED LIFE SILENTLY, INAUDIBLY LANDS

 

life is empty

hollow

 

a bottle 

tossed out

the window 

 

at 2 a.m.

a bottle 

that silently

 

inaudibly

 

shatters

scatters

breaks

 

without fanfare

without the slightest 

care

 

concern 

for the effort 

lowbrow entertainment 

 

its shattered

scattered

glass cage

 

life provided

 

to those with wide

eyes and lies

on their lips

 

the corporate 

snakes that slither 

unprovoked 

 

throughout 

the serpentine thickets

of the empty 

 

hollow “I”

their home: 

a grey matter

 

much like

my screaming head

at 2 a.m.

 

when unpleasant

realities

revelations

 

past failures 

agitations 

invade my home

 

like a

late-night 

intruder 

 

much like 

the screaming 

infantile demands 

 

of this world 

 

that just wants you

to punch the clock

punch in

 

punch out

but keep your mightiest

fists

 

your words

 

to yourself 

be a good little 

so and so

 

so that the world 

can quietly sow

you into subdued 

 

silence

put Xs

on your eyes

 

bury you in debt

lay out your 

pre-determined 

 

coffin

prematurely 

where all days

 

are identical 

so you 

can still think

 

you are living 

before you know 

you’re dead

 

make you drink

put the poison 

to your lips

 

while you ingest

their poisons

the lies that being

 

“productive”

“honest”

“subservient”

 

“a good little Christian”

 

are what give you

a golden throne

in this murky palace of shit

 

a world without 

identity

individuality 

 

a world where the best

dream that can cross

the wide eyes

 

and lying lips

of society 

is that

 

of being a joystick 

controller 

in the corporate 

 

monster’s hand

until the glass bottle 

shatters

 

scatters

and breaks

and

 

in laughter

 

the punchline 

of our discarded 

life

 

silently

inaudibly 

lands.