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Friday 16 May 2014

21st century poet speaks


I'm so bored of my ceaseless mortality
I'm so bored of my tireless humanity
Weariness already weighs on my shoulders
Indifference has seeped into my marrow
My blood thick with static
I'm sick to my stomach of this constructed realism
Of these plasticized people we are fed
My mouth is constantly sour
My ears are full
Check the checkbox it won't check itself
As we are sold
A hundred different ways to fake genuineness
And I'm tired
Tired tired
These constants need to cease
These ceaseless constants need to change
I want the earthy crush of dirt between my teeth
And the brutal roughness
Of grit and stones and sand lined fingernails
What happened to flaws? And all the filthy realness that came with them?
Dragged and dropped into the trash
With the rest of our human experience
Suckled on outlets and incubated by wires
Such a thin brew we are fed so young

But who cares? Who needs it.
Reality is for suckers.
There's probably an app for it by now

by Bryn McCutcheon ©2014