Shoplifting At the Generation Gap


Stuck
or wedged, I suppose
somewhere between tantrums, Kool-Aid, tree forts
and
401ks, dinner parties, condos….
but I don't want that
not that path, paved road nonsense.

I'm being shoved down,
community-less, vagrant
sucking the pop-culture music video debris
out of life.
In between
(see: Trickster)
left to hash out my own little trail
armed with
pale arms and dark eyes
and a sort of righteous
indignation
at my derelict nation
so absorbed in dropping faith-based bombs
over picking up the tab (but pocketing the leftovers)—
where is my place
or
better yet
how do I face a world where the fact that
I have no place
is thrown at my startled mind
time
and time again?

Drifting…
that's what they call it…
short attention spans and
a new cause once a week,
we seek some kind of purpose
(or maybe just enough cash to make rent).
It is not apathy,
as is so widely believed.
We have been dropped into a mess
of six billion souls
and only one dollar bill
run through the wash
but still bathed in blood
fresh from slaughters and stock market crashes—
The legacy left to us
by those who came before
is mistake heaped upon mistake
justified by white-faced swine
as a necessary evil—a means to an
end.

Our seeming aimlessness
is only the beginning,
because this isn't about winning
or fat paychecks
or condos on the lake
or world domination.
This is about
something entirely new;
something slapped together with
Elmer's glue and Scotch tape,
out of one pint milk cartons
and sandwiches with the crust cut off.

We try to keep out eyes above
a century's collective refuse,
try to sweep it all away
burn it up
swallow the past so that
our future has room to bloom—
red black yellow and pink—
like some strange flower
fed on Scooby-Doo and cereal box prizes…
This is our history
and your collective destiny—
somewhere in the middle of nowhere
wearing nothing
but a shit-eating grin
and the hope of everyone's sin.



copyright 3.25.03 -erm

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