The sun today
like yellow cellophane.
We each sit, sipping hot
coffee and digesting
our digital lives.
We each sit, performing
passionless jobs; Knuckles
at the ready before blank
glowing cubes.
The sun today, for some,
will be all that was good;
The others, I suppose,
never woke up
and they probably never will.
Poetry is dull. Long live bullshit.
Long live the business man.
Long live his ego.
Long live the self hatred of every man
whose pockets never dug deep enough
to spare him ten minutes in the morning
for just himself and just himself
to adjust himself to his daily fact.
Long live the sun today,
like yellow cellophane,
and those who spared
the moment to notice.
Self pity at the ready,
my coffee cup is empty (again)
and it is time to go do the work
which is pointless because I possess the soul
that they yearn to buy, extending patio decks
and sun roof everything.
I hate them all, but they feed me,
so I guess I’ll spend another day
giving up on the dream,
so that they can sleep better in their lives,
knowing the add-to-cart button
was moved 2 pixels higher. Shit.
Fuck my life with an electric bayonet.
Is this what I am living for?
I’ll just keep the blinds
turned open, hoping for a more sunny metaphor.

written on 04/12/2012 by: Matt Kane