The Suburban Hangover

i take pictures of something that’s blind
from all the other flashes it has seen
but i still feel it necessary and impending
any angel will do the job
the compulsory nightmare
mindless tourism incarnate

because the more i use computers
the more i act like one
programmed to do a specific function
at the same time programmed not to entertain
internal protests that bash mechanical impulses
and delete the investigation of habitual irony
(the television show Big Brother replaces conversation)

sometimes
there are glints of a rebellious spark
a dim flame that awakens
flashing boldly in the dark
visible from transparency to ask with force
“what the fuck are you doing?”

suddenly i realize i’m taking a photo of Lincoln’s memorial
from behind multitudes of people
who don’t seem to consider the stubborn spark
or have permanently extinguished it with water
from a polluted piss stream
stemming from the mass media’s
carbon copy bladder

the embers have been buried alive
a modern remorseful truth
because if the spark was always flaming
then every billboard,
newspaper with political
and corporate funding,
American Terrorist,
television,
movie theater,
Nike shoe,
text book with mandatorally distributed
Coca-Cola book cover
(the same corporation
that assassinates union leaders
in South America)
must be burnt down to the ground
to preserve the last grain
of anything which people claim
makes the United States of America
“the best damned country” on Earth

that burning cinder block
is hibernating in my stomach
when it sleeps i buy Gatorade
(the blue kind)
in preparation for a Capitalist future
because alternatives are bleak and far away
like a new form of government that does not encourage
conformity,
complacency,
consistent voter turnout decrease,
corruption,
disparity,
hopelessness,
affluence,
and a crushing lack of rebellion

that leaves me listening to 60’s music
wishing our generation would face apathy’s hangover
and wake up together.

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  1. Sara

    This one is great, I could see some of these verses being rapped. More poetry please! 🙂




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