Behind the VeilTo roam these stifled jungles,
seeming to stand still as the concrete treadmill treads beneath
and a wreath of neon hum-bum slaughters the stillness.
And busy, busy, busy
clickety-clack footsteps scurry about in circles,
hurrying faster and faster to the next red light.
In all the noise, I cannot hear my voice
and only taste my silent scream
as tattered echoes of this shattered dream
pollute my bloodstream with their sickly poison.
I face them weeping –
billboards leering in a shadowed imitation of my pale and wretched face,
and all the while informing me of the happy home of my lost happiness
now housed securely in some purple pill.
And I can frolic to my fill –
all at the small, but printed, price
of side-effects I'll surely sacrifice:
sleeplessness, drowsiness, constipation, diarrhea,
and a slightly nauseating vomiting
projecting onto those around me
the infectious glee of my cardboard perfection.
And in the eyes of passers-by
disposable pupils grow dimmer,
flung far into forgotten trash-heaps,
bereaved by no one but my tear-stained gaze
as I stalk my breath through the alleys, suffocating,
drowning in the ghastly innards spewed upon me
from the darkness
behind the glittering veil of middle-class utopia.
And I sigh as the sinews unravel –
the sorrowful struggle
of muck buckling beneath the burden of its own horrific weight,
exploding in a soot-stained supernova
of empty coke-cans and yellowed TV guides.
and I think: is that what it would take
to break the hold had upon the eyes of my people?
But as vicious splinters of dunghill debris
stab deep into their dormant corneas,
I weep at the thought that perhaps, even then, no one would notice.
Poetry by sasha khrebtukova
Read 772 times
Written on 2007-04-22 at 00:45
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