Concrete Jungle (poem)
The dumb-thump of rubber tires over the bridge,
Going to the city is like entering into a jungle
Of concrete and steel. I used to find it fascinating,
When all those places of interest
Had their proper purpose place and name.
Now the designations are erased.
Innumerably, illogically, numerically spaced.
What is left is only ice, frozen in time.
Self reflections in the glass.
There were landmarks once, flower gardens
Benches, parks, you knew where you were.
Now you’re just a bleep on a radar screen
Unable to find your way back to your car
Or plug the WEF-ing parking meter
The controllers have you marked
What a mutherWEFer mess we’re in.
The low-hum of electric fencing, to contain your fear.
Now thru the tangle, follow the shifting shadows,
From car to car, There is no one here, except for
The casual bypassing stranger or tourist.
Lord knows even why they’ve come.
Nothing to see here, move along.
If you’re going by bus, you follow the stops.
Access the tracks shown on the maps.
After long corridors of time, you eventually
Come to the place you started from.
You may never find a parking stall.
Park on the outskirt and walk
Once you are there it is difficult leaving
You need to retrace your steps
And abandon believing.
You stopped mid-construction,
Don’t remember ding this jigsaw decades ago.
Now it feels like a cemetery at night,
With its eerie shades of moonlight
You have left the rails,
Attracted to the angry neon
Fresh kill, beneath the weight
This time they got away, following
The madding crowd, of mass formation
All those willful constituters, thinking that
Someone is coming to save them. ~psp
The Hive 2.0 evil highrise
Notes to Self
I hate the passage ways, hallways and elevators.
Closed doors open to more corridors of endless mazes.
There are ghosts running all through the houses
Slamming the doors with the hot draught behind them.
Do you feel out of touch with your thoughts?
Well, you’re not, you’re trapped by them. ~psp
dr. π (pi)
.
Going to the city is like entering into a jungle
Of concrete and steel. I used to find it fascinating,
When all those places of interest
Had their proper purpose place and name.
Now the designations are erased.
Innumerably, illogically, numerically spaced.
What is left is only ice, frozen in time.
Self reflections in the glass.
There were landmarks once, flower gardens
Benches, parks, you knew where you were.
Now you’re just a bleep on a radar screen
Unable to find your way back to your car
Or plug the WEF-ing parking meter
The controllers have you marked
What a mutherWEFer mess we’re in.
The low-hum of electric fencing, to contain your fear.
Now thru the tangle, follow the shifting shadows,
From car to car, There is no one here, except for
The casual bypassing stranger or tourist.
Lord knows even why they’ve come.
Nothing to see here, move along.
If you’re going by bus, you follow the stops.
Access the tracks shown on the maps.
After long corridors of time, you eventually
Come to the place you started from.
You may never find a parking stall.
Park on the outskirt and walk
Once you are there it is difficult leaving
You need to retrace your steps
And abandon believing.
You stopped mid-construction,
Don’t remember ding this jigsaw decades ago.
Now it feels like a cemetery at night,
With its eerie shades of moonlight
You have left the rails,
Attracted to the angry neon
Fresh kill, beneath the weight
This time they got away, following
The madding crowd, of mass formation
All those willful constituters, thinking that
Someone is coming to save them. ~psp
The Hive 2.0 evil highrise
Notes to Self
I hate the passage ways, hallways and elevators.
Closed doors open to more corridors of endless mazes.
There are ghosts running all through the houses
Slamming the doors with the hot draught behind them.
Do you feel out of touch with your thoughts?
Well, you’re not, you’re trapped by them. ~psp
dr. π (pi)
.