Cloud of Dissonance

Sunday, March 2, 2025

Cloud of Dissonance
The gut in me,
the weight loss,
I’m a limping soldier,
the last of whatever we ever got.

The cramping,
the convulsions of me,
the Matrix interrupts,
the classic,
funny farm level conspiracy.

Brittle,
the teeth on it,
young and ambitious—
demolished.

And they found success
in being a pawn,
but they think they won too.

The boundaries,
the economics of it,
to propagate,
the conviction of growth—
means competition
against our neighbor.

And that’s wild,
crazy if you think
you want a strong society.

All hail the system,
or we make the wave
and watch it crash.

But let’s dance, boys’—
we could live
for a thousand years.