Boom

I saw the best era of my species destroyed by

cynical incompetent drinking of kool-aide,

bragging themselves through the meta ghetto

shackled by a golden steel dawn,

outdated hippies claw for days of back

self-fulling lies of pop culture nexuses

of when babies boomed and came of age

clutching at tethered self-importance

skull fucking the vacuum of progress,

sloppy seconds of a doomed generation, blood stained

in desperation to relive what was never lived,

astroprojecting lies of crumpets for tea parties with Allah

self-appointed caretakers of aging Fates,

burning the wealth of generations in their vanity bonfire

least they realize the flames lick their shadows

in cave they never left or saw, but deprecated throughout

knee-high incomparable failure blaspheming bloodlines,

scholars of their own self-righteousness,

who stole the future in the night, thieves

of self-identified IDs marching all in labyrinth lines

expressing prepackage individuality of shattered spiritualities,

resting wickedly to rise of brilliant morns

making cakes of lies for mind-starved prodigies

laced with roaring icing of Thou Shalt Not

dragon scales for their eyes,

soup kitchens with no souls, archaic fantasies

of rusted cunts and dickless porn stars

fluffed in zen gardens of atomic-glass sands

who loaned the impulse of their zeitgeist

leveraging the cowboy beebop open ranges

assets of timelined cultures, for their depraved hedonism of their now

craven ecstasy, swallowing whole inquisitions

against their self-truths, Charlie hut whorehouses,

sanctified as holy for the hopeless class

mirror reflections refused to be recognized,

shadowing boxing the Gay Jesuses in Private Idahos,

arms protesting the delivering of their anger letters

to the Chinamen of the moment of here and how,

who vapidly suckled the tit of their own denial,

growing fat beyond passed skin of karma bassoons,

skeleton crews of long sunked ships, winked out

in the darkness of innumerable killjoy matinees,

stranded on an island of self-conviction of self-worth,

manuscripts in hand of self-proclaimed glories,

hulls crushing skulls of babies yet born,

who burrow with burros in esoteric texts

penned in tongues trampled by Spanish iron maidens

heralding concepts steampunked into regulated

regurations to answer questions hogtied and derailed

least fantasies be approached and ballets stopped,

the purity of deprived rejection of dissent

for self-centered preservation, no matter the dead

injuns on the reservations,

I’m with you in the Boom,

where babies lose fingers in the loom,

I’m with you in the Boom

mortgaged to crises outside of time,

I’m with you in the Boom

crack-addled by state secret lies,

I’m with you in the Boom

where the future is denied for lusting pasts,

I’m with you in the Boom

swirling in the Brazil of checks in the mail,

I’m with you in the Boom

where salt dresses wounds uninflicted,

I’m with you in the Boom,

where Buddha killed himself on the road for shelter,

I’m with you in the Boom  

dancing to player pianos written by derelict pilgrims

on the typewriters of the heretical Gods

I’m with you in the Boom

cherry picking tomato ripe aborted fetuses

I’m with you in the Boom

sweathoused sewing new suits for the emperor

commoditized  and sold for brand America

I’m with you in the Boom

chicken scratching fables of truth

of a generation howling against itself

I’m with you in the Boom

watching history collide against humanity’s bulkwork

of entitled babies stealing candy from history.