Parable of Maturation





 
controllers
on the tube


this junk itself as
                        sex


mechanical       in the beginning
the illusion
      then language
               dictates
what we see hear smell


sell shill
sham honor among fools


unbelievable voices
            never stopping
will not shut up


authenticating existence - 
             but whose?
             yours? theirs? mine?


you never know what to expect
so locked up, safe in the shadows


without surprise


listening for train whistles
smelling burning leaves           

3 thoughts on “Parable of Maturation

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