a poem for today, 10 October 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of twelve sentences and its image]
A party that is attended solely by denim-clad people.
This reality keeps me busy with its constant pressures.
There is too much of everything and not enough of nothing.
That hiss you hear is an oxygen recirculation unit.
Our failure to refuse the system is the system.
Linkages count against in this scenario.
To touch these wires is instant death.
Outer space is a practical myth.
I got out of it years ago.
Another box, another cage.
My ass hurts.