ready mob with torchesA Poem by delapruchcivilization’s discontents have all fallen fast asleep, at different intervals this past eve, whether they be sheltered or on the street, they are seething---the distress mixed with anger in a revolution cocktail knows not the flavor of rest---for it, there is no ceasing, as even the last heartbeat only sparks the flame of another---we barely evolved primates are screaming at each other clawing at the walls, told by each other that we are strung up, mad---just not playing the game right---but then, we did not get this way overnight now did we? the bell tolls, the roll call rolls and all the familiar names are not the ones that you should worry about---the strongest core of destruction to come is still believing the lie---they are one step away from throwing up that last bit of hope right out the motherfucking window---curling up their fingers---gripping their fists round the nearest sharpest objects---thrusting them down in stabbing motions---opening up their gun cabinets, getting their best deals on those selling on the streets---in the suburban bunkers----holding all the stash and waiting---the armaments that grow and grow like weeds in someone’s last delusion---preoccupied with nothing, focused so well on everything---and all that matters is the swim against the stream, that remembering who you are when others tell you the contrary---if you just bend a little, if you just buy into it now---oh, how you will profit when the moneyman comes round---but our acrimony, our animosity, our antagonized annoyance---it burns like lava underneath our fingernails---writing inside our stomach---no longer something alien, no longer something that is frowned on now that came before that we should get beyond---there are moments now when you wish that the panic would start---there are moments now when you wish that someone would fire that first shot---but it still isn’t you now is it? still you are holding on to something. what is it? what is keeping you asleep? what still allows you to rest that head on that pillow? and then suddenly when you roll over and take a breath, someone enters---are they hear to call you to go with them, or are they here to take you out first? and you wonder then how many you have offended in your everyday pondering, and how many you may offend in the coming days, those coming weeks---hmmm---does it add up?---that is, how many that you have been wronged by in opposition to how many you wrong?---does it add up?---in the absence of your own innocence, aren’t you guilty of everything that you yourself want to stop? what can you do to combat your own single atrocity---that which you yourself have orchestrated---that which you yourself perpetuate? hmmm---but that’s all the ramblings of someone taking shelter under cardboard in the rain, no? it would be better not to listen to them because they are just angry that things didn’t go their way---hmmm---if they had what you had, things would be different---if you had what the people you hate had---things would be different, no?---why don’t you work on that then? slide back in your seat and continue watching the movie---chomp down on that popcorn---stuff stuff stuff your f*****g face and wait for someone else to wake up and tap you on the shoulder that it’s over. © 2011 delapruchAuthor's Note
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Added on February 23, 2011 Last Updated on February 23, 2011 |

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