Concerto for blunt instrument

An irregular heartbeat from d.o. to you. Not like a daily kos, more like a sometime sloth. Fast relief from the symptoms of blogarrhea and predicated on the understanding that the world is not a stage for our actions, rather it is a living organism upon which we depend for our existence.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

In the forest of monstrous egos

In the forest of monstrous egos
we eat our young, frequenting
the very finest fires with
an eye toward the next camp
and the mirror, mirror on the wall
reflecting all the best people
whose clothes don't make the man
or woman who knows what's best
for himself or herself or yourself
or rules the roost on a factory farm
of your worst fears, strutting
in some splendid suit
of pin-striped armor
lawless, you spoke out against the
end of history, the
start of another torturous round
while inflating, no, over-inflating
the wheel you run over others
and their unworthy ideas, unlike
yours or your associates, though
theirs aren't quite as good
as yours, are they?

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