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I'll never reach them

I was raised in an echo chamber
and when I realized I was a mirror
looking at mirrors
and paintings of clouds
on the ceiling,
I smoked a flower and
the clouds cleared for stars.
bury my head
in this garbage shit,
muck. gutter dirt.
I'm in need of a
these words are truer
than my audience,
whose heads are
I am not ascending
any heavenly ladder
and I am surrounded by idiots
whose faith weighs more
than my own gnosticism.
I don't know nearly enough
except that the headlines
are bait
for the anti-intellectual
fanatics, who,
reliving the glory days
of high school basketball
in their churches,
now have access to
pornhub in their pockets.
and they vote.
they voted
white. they voted men.
they voted and my progressive friends
blocked them.
bury my head in this garbage.
I'm still painting dots
in a room burning down,
what little cash I have
is all the fuel left
to ignite.

22 Dec 16

Rated 7 (7) by 1 users.
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rated a 7 and still in the recent best. must not be very many good poems lately.
 — unknown