For the multi-tentacled holder of eternal temptations
For the turquoise sphere that looks better from a distance
For the doll burning quotient and accompanying hysterical laughter
For the doubts about the platypus and the moon landings
For repeated failures to notice the obvious
For the history we never thought we'd see again
For the bank's meaningless security, where did all the money go?
For the dweller in the cave, be he real or imaginary
For those who shock and gouge human flesh and are held up as heroes
For the desire for weaponry we never seem to outgrow
For Pandora's first broadcast that can never be turned off
For the dull and the half-alive who talk only of fantasy
For the parts of mankind's collective creativity that suck and those that don't
For piercing the blister and watching distraction ooze out
For living in a house without any electricity, phone, and Internet
Perish the old order, tectonic plates shift
Like pirates who plunder their own ships and towns
We are a people who need our relaxation
Chock full of ideas, I write none of them down
Hold on to marriages and funerals
And family dinners and sporting events and happy hours
Lest they take away these trivial pleasures
Meanwhile, giant boulders fall from mountains
Crushing reality but leaving behind priority-free leisure
Pitchfork in hand, is he guarding or waiting?
Does he mean to stop you from getting in or stop you from getting out?
Man needs to satisfy weakness
Too weak to handle any pressure, ironing board people commence folding in half
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem