Two Poems by Son of Suburbia

by Son Of Suburbia

Age of Factions

Politically correctly speaking,
Begrudgingly looked away, lived.
Insinuations, subtle instigations
As blunted daggers written into ballots cast.
But complacency settles second hand thought containers.
Yet I could eat full. My children rested in a comfort majority in school yards. I had a job,

But then it happened.
It got crowded,
It got hot,
It got hungry.

Some find fuel from shamelessness granted by a god over shoulder.
Some stay to brands singed into flesh, logos of corporations, conglomerates, parties and tea parties.
Hearts worn on sleeves fray at the seems.
Candor doesn’t count as much once its for dinner.
Foreign gangs save own skin.
Others tear their own and wave a bloody banner.
Governments like abandonment parent memories.

Is it any wonder, the great exodus?
A great checking out?
The fair is over, leaving
Jaded trash strewn in its wake.

Suburban kids rub their brows
From a long cocaine hangover.
Check the box labled ‘yes’ to hit up the dealer again.
Rock the vote into the night again.

* * * * *

Choose Your Dimension

Let the cowards wilt in their cases,
Displaced blame from the turned away faces- tilt.
“Cus the times have changed, again
And as you sit and hypothesize
Who, what, when, where and why
The question in the mirror stares back to its answer
A culture of oil junky injection
How do we cure this cancer?
‘Cus this is bigger than the motherfucking renaissance.
We are a species in metamorphosis, emulsion
To this evolution
To cast off these now unnecessary appendages
Of ignorance, avarice, and impotence,
Or hold to them and die,
Continuing to deny
That in nature, populations plummet
Leaving only the boldest of freaks.
The state sanctioned xanax half sleep?
The virtual reality video game replacement life, leaving you with either
PTSD or a bitter nostalgia for right fucking now?!
Opaque riot masks hiding transient humanity,
They could not deny the hungry
The hungry could not deny the snipers.
The jaded minded with
Faded time perception between
Birth, school, cubicle, wrinkle, death
Will continue refusing
The terrible blinding beauty of the sun,
The reality that now, our falls are further,
Our path perpetuating perception through a peak
We will never see.
They will continue refusing the hallow moving stars.
Muscle spasm tension reminds me that “I Am Alive.”
Fiber strands contract and react, torn, repaired,
Now we are building God
With words, with guitars and screaming voices, with picket handles,
With arms linked marching at amassed cops.
Love, no longer an abstract construct
But understood as a law of physics
Bonding atom together with every other atom ever
Bonding elements into proteins into nuerons of the martyr brain.
The new science,
The new spirituality,
Is the epiphany of a clay mind