Surprise! Poetry!

I met up with my friend Griffin yesterday evening.




Okay, so, in reality he’s a bit less feathered than that, but whatever.

We got on the train, and then realized we had no idea where we were going, so then he said “Hey, there’s a poetry slam/open mic thing happening tonight. Do you want to go to that?”

Yes. Yes I do.


I haven’t written much lately, but I’m excited to get back into it.


So, some poetry. This one’s a bit older, but whatevs. It’s called “Cubicle Dreams” (Working Title)(They are pretty much all, *always* working titles).


Dust crumbles away to land on the keyboards of self-righteous anger

content to burn itself out

on the infinite oblivion of electrons

that bounce with artificial light form screen to screen

infecting minds with the siren call of apathy

the walls close in

the world is shrinking

the sky is falling

taking the cities with it.

Bringing down buildings and houses and trees

until all that’s left

is the flickering flourescent light

of cubicle dreams

and black/white binary lives.


Voices sound silently

hiding behind capslocked intentions

idealism is funneled directly into the flames

so that commentators without spellcheck can pass judgmentf

along with super sexy russian babes

and the full movies that can be seen for free.


Click the link,

see where it takes you

to another flat empty page that can’t even be turned

to another glowing surreal plane

that can fulfill your every fantasy, sate every whim


except for those nights when all you actually want is to be touched by someone

someone real, whose breath will warm your hair.

Someone to walk down unknown pathways and cast a second shadow.


So let go of your mice and go look for squirrels.


Step out of the door and into every thing that could be

step out of your shoes and feel the earth

look outside and see the status of the world

not more empty words on empty pages

to be filled with icons of thumbs

like the great coliseum.


Idealism is an unarmed gladiator

competing against the faceless masses

who after all these years

are still thirsting for blood.

The button clicks and the chanting thunders


All around the world and throughout time.

Critical Hit! Kill Shot! Blue Screen of Death!

Get your ass off your computer

the world spins

and people sit in the seats

waiting to be entertained.


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