Kali Yuga Symphony



Choose to be an idiot.
Worship your privacy.
Abandon the Polis.

The political fray
creates a draining
illusion of matter.
The more of it;
the less of you.
Opinions shouted
in a noisy crowd
cannot be heard.
The cancerous Internet 
metastasizes hatred.
A futility of gesture.
An empty of hollow.
A shrieking of Shades.

Belong only to yourself.
Travel the worlds
in your imagination.
Cede Nepal and Peru
to boring backpackers,
widows and divorcées,
their fatuous selfies.
Why visit a postcard?
Accept the real inside
you as really real.
Make your interior life
splendid and rich as a
sunken Spanish galleon.

There are times
to join the battle;
times to cultivate
your green grown garden.

This is an age when
the young are boring,
the old defeated.
The future cannot
touch the present.
Rancid vegetation
sprouts beneath
the polluted earth.
Men are emasculated
and women uncertain.
Whole lifetimes spent
in distinct silos.
A bewildering numbness
stalks the land.
Authenticity sells
in hipster boutiques.
The recovery of
ignorance is the only
quest for knowledge.

Call it the Iron Age,
Call Gold a memory.
Fall back upon 
your interior.
Become your world.

ἴδιος = idios, pertaining to the self, one’s own. In Athens an idiot
was simply someone who withdrew, on purpose, from the life of the Polis.