Out of the Rush
Out of the rush, the stress, the artificial dreams, I scream.
I don’t care a shred.
We’re walking dead.
The fashion, the packaging, the push for new, New, NEW—out of the blue.
We moan for more, but secretly we long for less.
It’s what we want,
but in the hunt for it we forget and fill up—
our bellies, our houses, our minds—
with whatever we can find.
They seem the same to us, the real and counterfeit,
so we latch on to whatever we can get and feast
‘til empty fills our minds.
The daily bind.
And so we forget (if ever we knew)
(Originally posted on my old blog, Interim Arts, on June 1, 2013)