Reality
Lit Up: Spring Prompt — Reality
Reality intruded
like a stray snot
on the lapel
of my jacket suit,
got me thinking,
what’s so fucking special
about Sunday anymore,
when you dressed
in your best,
to parade and preen,
pretend to worship
an empty vessel
while chewing stale bread?
The sight of you,
lying half-dead
on a floor,
kept alive
to wave at you,
half alive,
through a window,
cursed, crooked smiles,
vain, fain, understanding,
prolific, raging pain
of damage, not age,
causing delay, doubt,
time’s relentless rampage,
your mind screams, denies,
disbelieves fake news
from those refuting
encroaching decay,
eternally promoting
their life on display,
what’s the deal?
what’s the appeal?
surface living,
eschewing what’s real.
Irony of wisdom,
arrives slowly,
with age,
like vagrant snot
on your suit,
that’s reality.
