It’s hard to see the stars
from the gallows
or a smile through tears.
It’s hard to see rot beneath beauty
hope beneath shame
love beneath all that hate.
It’s hard to see change at the end of a gun
peace through the flames
or God through all that pain.
It’s hard not to bury
not to burn
not to break
because it’s hard to see the way.
And it gets harder to see
every day.
This world has shrunken to a room
filled with maniacs
and guns.
Everything
outside the window
looks like it’s either dead
or on fire.
Anything between is only deception.
Corpses rush through traffic
so preoccupied
with time
as the coyotes wait for darkness
sitting fat upon their faces.
The sun reveals
the presence of walls
unacquainted
with so-called mercy.
The sun rambles
it goes on and on
like the last drunk
at the party.
Nature wants not your genius
if you’re so smart
then why can’t
you clean up
your mess?!
I suppose that it doesn’t matter
the sea will claim us all
in the end
whether we understand it
or not
and I do believe
that it is time
for another drink.
Something sweet
Something dark perhaps.
It’s always time for the rodeo
when I’ve accepted the fetal position
as a way of life for fear
of putting on the clown suit.
Doubt comes barging in
like a mad cocaine pirate
that I welcome on-board
with streamers, ribbons and balloons
as my dreams vacuously congeal
into dried husks so often that I pray
for monsters under my bed
with dollars in my teeth.
It’s all relative to whatever
disaster I touch and mold into shape
using the clay that mother gave me.
I almost feel like begging
for the knife in these alleyways
filled with uncertain strangers with
cartoon lives
but all they do is
kill me with conversation until
I trip on slumber wondering
why the pen is so heavy
when everything seems so much like air
on which floats the dust
of long dead sheep.
Under a blanket of gasoline
I light a match
and blame God.
Your skin grows thicker
over time.
What bothered you
ten years ago
wouldn’t bother you now.
All of those big deals
that
you used to tear your hair out
over
they become small.
They become nothing.
While at the same time
all of the small things
that made you smile
day by day
that kept you going
no matter what
they become large.
They become everything.
I watch the rain pelt
the other side of the window
and I think of
dead spirits in new engines
of men that are not men anymore
of fake plastic glitter neon entrances to pain.
I think of dolls filled with snakes
and smiles that lure you into bottomless pits.
I think of how money has driven the world insane
and is now driving it into the grave.
I think about how the men that preach values
are the same ones that steal from our pockets
and how we let them
not just year after year
but decade after decade.
I think about how our positions in life
are archaic dreams
manufactured by our fathers
in a world
they could not prepare us for
as they leave us
with much less
than they had worked to build.
I think about how our flags
have been rendered obsolete
by logos
how our heroes have become villains
and our virtues
liabilities.
I think about how we have sold ourselves
to each other
to the point where
we have all become vending machines
of two-minutes ideologies.
I think that the weight of the farce
is collapsing the institutions
made of glass
and if a twelve-year old would
provide scrutiny on any situation
it would be of more value
than what the common mass
could collect.
I think that we know it’s bad
but we just don’t want to
do anything about it
as long as were supplied with fresh consoles
and stale sitcoms.
I think that we are more than lost
I think that we are damned
by ourselves
in this wasteland
of metal and plastic
of lost souls and bright lights
of angry children
of easy credit
and destiny served
on a silver platter of complacency.
I watch the rain pelt
the other side of the window
and for a moment
I think of nothing at all
so let it rain
all over the world.
hernanjmonzon.com 