There was a large spectrum of blasting music assailing my ears
the end of all ends took some time off
and the solo performer forgot to open his mouth.
These are the impressions of the lost tribesman
these are the things of open dreams.
The hungry stupid worm-man searched for his penis
the woman with the large pair of egos got up to speak
and the small pathetic phantom haunted the wrong house.
These are the impressions of the holy king
these are the things of subnatural observance.
Some smart alec with a smart phone said something dumb
the wide open vista of smelly ideas imploded
and the man inside the woman cried to get out from under.
These are the impressions of the modern pharoah
these are the things of the post- post modern beat.
Spotify with headphones.
The world didn’t end today.
Sometimes we are embarrassed.
Looking out and looking in.
The lessening of the masculine.
Sometimes we should just be quiet.
Loners should stay at home.
Looking out and looking in.
Lost in a device and stupid too.
A thousand crappy suggestions.
A father trapped inside his daughter.
Looking out and looking in.
See?
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if Douglas Adams and Albert Camus had a child, and that child was raised by Bukowski, this would be his anthem.
what an interesting comment. thanks for that!