By Jack Blare
American dream builds up lives of lies
Etched into the worn down sketch pad
Of cracked and broken Suburbia.
Achy virgins hallucinate heaven and earth fumes
In a bullet train garage
Headed straight for the heart of the sun.
Manhood is still hiding somewhere,
Ducking between chopped vegetables, hours of TV static,
And mountains of psychiatric mEduCATion
Gathered high to keep the demons at bay.
Like loaded handguns in glass houses
Ancient children swing rusty hammers at the walls with anger.
Their dusty lungs rasp, thick with tar and sticky fear,
Idiots invested in a fool’s gold fortune of tears.