The Drunks and the Oppressed

I breathe my own fumes, lying up late at night in subtle hope for a change of pace

Fumes of body odor and cigarettes

Menthol and blue collar work for no pay

Nicotine and hard work in hopes for a body worthy of time magazine

Olfactory disappointment towards my own personal demons

Disappointment in words written to be seen not read

Disappointment in thoughts of leaping into the history books from golden gate bridges

The holy litany of loneliness

Dreams of reading a poet’s scripture to the stoned drunks in the grey cascades of dreary dusk.

Night after night being heard by my true audience

Who gasp at the glimmer of the microphone and the pinch of the needle in their arm

Of lulling to sleep the drunks with fists sore from beating their brains in for a chance at reprieve

Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit! To the days of seeing the suffering as tools for a government profit and MK-Ultra experimentation

Bullshit! For putting me on a watchlist for speaking my mind!

Bullshit for giving me amnesiac pills for disagreeing with you!

Golden dreams of heavenly messages!

Dreams of flight and revolution and jazz!

Dreams of countless women in my arms

Dreams to prove meaningless conquests of the obscene nothingness

LSD hallucinations of a golden Ginsbergian age of 1957

No change

Drunks still unconscious in vomit on the sandpaper sidewalks of san francisco

Meth addicts still shivering, shuddering, screaming, shrieking at the icy touch of memories before their pipes

Opium sanitization of the mind

The forsaken buddha crushed under the corporate arm of the American dream

The smoke of a cigarette welded into the iron fibers of societal discourse.

Hitler’s Mussolini's’ Vietnams and San Bernadinos all eliciting salty tears from the well farmed crop of capitalism called the common man

Communist satans still ruling the eastern world from the west’s point of view

Let the learned shine and write sililoqies in the starless cell of sadness you have locked us away in.

Let the fools learn.

Let the rich understand poverty.

Let the poor be fed

Let the right men write and let the wrong men read.

Let the great men, cease to die and be forgotten by the generation of tweets and followers.

America i will not be put down for the sins of my father, brother, and friend,

I will not be silenced by my fellow man as i would not silence my fellow men.

A utopia built on steel,

Built by the legless paraplegic of a hivemind of smokers, immigrants, and poverty stricken savants.

Who spent lunch money on marlboro reds in middle school

Who despise each other at the expense of brotherhood.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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