by gnimbley the gnome

the carnival of expectations is in town
clowns of hope and fear are performing
they stand upon laminated cardboard boxes
that they claim are limestone and steel
and wave iridescent wisps of smoke
that they claim are apocalyptic consequences
you shudder and retreat
into your fortress of platitude and apathy

a bitter wind whips the big top
scattering the tightrope walkers
drowning the bearded lady
emasculating the tiger boy
you stand upon the graveled path
that meanders through the sideshow
wondering which barker you have heard before
and can any of them be trusted?

the quadrennial illusion seduces you
you invoke the medicine show of hope
spend the coin of broken promise
spin the bottle of misspent dream
listen to chain mailed false witness
taste the poison of disingenuous truth
spiral down the throat of rhetoric
believe the manufactured, pretty lie

and meanwhile, in the distance, the war goes on


the tanks proceed down Wall Street
disguised as brown conveyors of innocent pulp
you watch as they dismantle decades
of cynical manipulation and capital dreams
they fracture the unbreakable sidewalk
dissolve the unassailable reserve
and you fear you are horrendously vulnerable
in your paper fortress of platitudes and lies

you mash your hands against untouchable fates
the high pitched whine of calamity deafens you
carelessly erected bridges from infancy to death
disappear down the coal chutes of collapse
the subprime mortgages of mass destruction
overwhelm your papier-mache castle of dreams
your Disneyesque vision of futurist nirvana
breaks against rocks of capitalistic whimsy

you pray for resurrection, restoration, rebirth
escape from the black waters of financial hell
while you simmer over the heat of uncertain times
grow nauseous in the cyclical tides of history
worry the birds of salvation politicians send
streaming north are nothing more than buzzards
to feast on corpses and gorge on fortunes
as they have in Baghdad, New Orleans and your home town

and meanwhile, in the distance, the killing goes on


in time, even the blood becomes commonplace
no longer a diversion of import or sense
its seduction does not thrill
you need something hot, erotic, more now
you can't waste your time with something so cold
something so banal and boring as piss
where is the frisson, the ague, the shakes?
where is the titillate, the sex?

in time, even the war becomes tiresome and wan
no longer as exciting as illusory life
time waged in imaginary constructs erected
by cabals of money grubbing sociopaths
you need your fix of intravenous fantasy
your opiate of vicarious wish fulfillment
your reality of scripted play acting
your playhouse of unreasonable expectations

the scimitar of marketing servitude
separates will from sense
please stand on your hands willingly
and place your head betwixt your ass
don't pay attention to the details
you never did before
listen only to the order
which we declare how things are

and meanwhile, your soul seeps through the sieves of your heart


Copyright © 2008 - gnimbley the gnome
Published: 10/23/08   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem