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.


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