Forum Post: poem on some stuff.

The Year, 2012

In the year 2012, the yawning fangs of peace will declare the world over and the better for it. Man will be oh so cool, He’ll end human suffering with a hard nudge of the jukebox, and it’ll be easy listening. sleep aid commercials on the information superhighway to Hell.

In the year 2012, Art and Commerce will sign a cease-fire and begin casually dating, which will end up leading only to a physical relationship. The student loan departments will forgive and forget so the kids can cash-in their MFA degrees and place their bets on the world championship match between the Future and History, hoping for the body count to beat the spread

In the year 2012, Christ will rise from the dead and feed on the brains of the living. Mystery will unconditionally surrender to Progress, and the last noble savage will leave the jungle for the projects. from Dust to dustbuster. Amen

In the year 2012, we were not left at the altar but in the piled up trash at the end of the public record, the conversation between money and itself goes on unabated. White trash, black trash, magenta trash, lavender trash, lemon-lime trash, pre-owned trash, born-again trash, and the invisible trash of the poor. I spent two thousand and twelve years prospecting in the strip mine of the soul and all I got was store credit.

The pack-ice is packing. The oil is our dominating lover yet is always running out on us. The Gods are consolidating collateralized debt obligations.

This tiny earth is a very, very large intestine.