Sheep, we sleep
in our pens at night, unaware
of the Big Money; silently
they spin the world, can't you see?
it's the Apocalypse; venom drips
from the fangs of the Beast of Zion.
Atomically, twice already -
two Japanese towns turned to zombies.
Leviathans, let them overrun,
let our brains dream that Technicolor.
Clamp this hologram
of Vicodin thoughts that leave me happily number.
I would rather be dumb, numb;
Than be awakened and aware
of our imaginations of emancipation.
Reality is too much to bear.
YOU ARE READING
Post - it
Short StoryRevelations, poems, short stories and three a.m monologues, all as tiny as a post-it
