An Ode to Our Bubble

I am easily distracted by life
Mesmerized by the detritus cast off
By the dizzying rotation of strife
In this way I devolve: become a sloth


I naïvely attempt to comprehend
All the supercharged notifications
Contemporary society sends
For its momentum’s continuations

Why do the shenanigans of others
Strike notes that resonate with my soul?
Mayhem, thievery as well as murders
Show me people’s failed ways become whole

With increasing frequency I see
Vaguely conformist people act out
& bourgeois acceptability flee
Killing peace’s opportunities stout

How does a man or woman deputized
To enforce our pecuniary rules
Come to commit these things we demonize
Though they have been furnished all of the tools?

Are these defects in individuals
Or is there a systemic problem?
If the problem is particular souls
Why d’we have so fucking many of them?

How do common problems metastasize
To the 1st deadly sin of homicide?
Why do people insanely fantasize
That killing others will restore their pride

Mornings, I greedily turn on my phone
Looking for the world’s outrages current
Today, see how a man gunned down his home
Then spend the day plotting how we’re diff’rent

I should look for the similarities
Between the homicidal & myself
(& not the curious specificities
But psychological traits on our shelfs)

For the man who kills his whole family
Is, 1st & foremost, a man just like me
That something has modified insanely
(I’ll investigate how this came to be)

But my smartphone is designed* to keep me
Judging & distancing myself from him
& in this way I will never truth see
For without understanding, life is grim

So now please help me to inventory
The physical reality of life:
Not covered with mythology hoary
But with hints at the meanings for this strife

Remind me that the pain is just friction
Ev’ry physical being must endure
It’s the obverse of orgasm’s diction
That we might get to enjoy, to be sure

Some cleverly attempt to configure
There is metaphysical unity
Where “all is part of a perfect whole,” sure
(I cannot buy that “non-duality!”)


I don’t need the evil to create good
Innate in my being is right & wrong
I know that “right” is the action I should
Try to commit as my daily life’s small song

So I must confess all the ironies
Of this long poetic meditation
About people who overthink theories
But, sadly, my style is rumination

This doggerel will not ever surface
In the journals that real poets respect
For these are simply thoughts in cursive
That good editors clamor to reject

But still I tap all my fingers counting
Out ten syllable vocabulary
In which I try to add thoughts amounting
To something that has some meaning to me

& if you have read this far along, thanks
Because this is merely the digression
Of an old man looking for other cranks
Who are disappointed with depression

This interminable stack of stanzas
About a human’s vision’s raiment
Is hardly an extravaganza
But is just another entertainment



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