Meet Smokestack-Branded Howls With Blissful Smiles Poem by Patrick Fleskes

Dry those tears,

Rollin' industrial born, demons,

Poundin' that A-minor into submission,

Subdued, abused,

Curse the land that gives,

As easily as it takes,

Curse the organic, primitive desires,

The rot of of hunger and pain, festers...

Curse the temptations of death,

Curse the temptations of life,

Brittle bones,

The molded clay,

Brittle vision, perception,

Brittle existence, bare-skinned...

And all I can do is laugh,

In circles,

In cycles,

Caught in it's desolate revolution,

It's

All

A

Joke.

It takes more muscular motion to frown than to smile,

Yet I look around and,

Not too many people make friends with physical happiness,

If

One laughs

Instead of cries,

The load is lighter

(As the wheels 'neth us clatter, with laughter)