Friday, April 10, 2009

Genetic Mutation

I am dying here
on a genetic tightrope.
Fed on a diet of
acid washed jeans
and rock and roll...
frayed at the edges.

Unraveling of the old
world order 
of father knows best
and the cleavers.

Lost in space...
unleashed from
the realm of family
ties and bubbly smiles
at inside jokes.

The raw asunder
espouses silence 
as mission
in words of play...

in the grasp of 
and politics.

A mutant ninja
kicks the past
and is born into
the prescient present.

The world is truth
as future shock.
A mutilated
well of hope
and spring of desire.

No comments:

Post a Comment