Saturday dancing alone in my dirty kitchen
where mops are not allowed and counter culture clutter rules
Papers, dishes, cups, vases, glimmering rocks, art utensils,
Chef Ramsey would not be proud to see
the scattered Legos in the freezer
the toy, not the frozen waffles.
“What a nightmare!” he’d complain.
“Where’s the lamb sauce!” he’d exclaim.
No where here in the land of take out rubble.
Spending full-time money like running water
probably because my parents never did.
They saved everything for the house they owned
no family vacations no Atari no HBO no IZOD
alligator polo shirts that everyone except me
wore in my 5th grade gifted and talented
preppie wannabe class.
My ghastly shirt had an uncool penguin on it from trash cart Kmart.
So now I splurge irresponsibility, indiscriminately spend
on unnecessary take out food via delivery App
lazier than ever, depression will do that
cave in to my lowly cozy apartment for really one not two
with paper thin walls and morning light of crystal rainbows
window sun catchers float brief magic in.
The dingy motel-like hallways here always smell
like French onion soup or spicy curry or bacon
sometimes in unison.
There’s always construction outside
never melodic birds chirping in the suburb
Maples and Oaks and flowering Dogwoods
I miss the East Coast countryside of my childhood.
On my few days off I get no relief
from the endless urban expansion
like constant ants we build our kingdom
metal clergy relentlessly jackhammering,
chainsaws bleeding a tree dead
decapitating it’s trunk and crowned head.
Dinosaur cranes should look like Brontosaurus.
Bridges should look like leaping ancient Blue Whales.
I’d happily live in an expressive world like that
but ours is concrete modern duplicated dreary
rat-a-tat-tat crumble, drilling more unoriginal
continuously repaired, paved black hole asphalt shit
sinking tar roads killing real green leprechaun magical grass
and tiny weeds fairy wildflowers and smiling glowing dandelions.
I detest manicured pristine golf courses
pesticidal Astroturf-like green outdoor carpet.
Golfing is an elitist pastime
I think soon all of Hawaii will soon be converted again
to a Japanese owned golf course
if Trump doesn’t plant a fraud business there instead.
So I buy new drapes to barricade in
buy new natural rugs to buffer the ugly industrial toxic carpet.
I think carpets should not exist
if only I could blink them away forever
use the existing ones to cover cat towers but then no more ever.
I ironically buy aquariums for tranquility then fight with algae.
Bye bye plastic packages of plastic
Let’s illegalize it now
and everything that doesn’t biodegrade naturally.
I hate Amazon while still shopping there.
Zombie consumer part of the problem
worker drone life seeks relief
in comfort food and cozy home
stomach bloating like Marlon Brando and Elvis
WTF is happening to me?
Selling out, giving up the blue collar struggle?
Soon I’ll be driving
and vacationing in tourist zones
like a bourgeoisie asshole.
But I’m a hermit at heart, “I vant to be alone“.
We all need therapy to uncondition us from
consumerism addiction which benefits the
creeps on top controlling things
selling us their GMO cancer crops
Apple gadgetry distraction props
Yup I signed up, duped again.
Draining us incrementally, precisely, warping us
boiling us like frogs unaware slowly.
We’re just the lonely scavenger prawns
eating imminent failure
walking into doomsday self-ignited.