Before the Takeover



Since it will have such a bitter ending, let your life begin with sweetness: Life! Hope! Love! Youth! Money! Power! Sex! Drugs! Beer! Security! Marriage! Kids! Retirement! Travel! Portfolio! Death!


You are entitled to this anger.  My children,


as you know you are,

you are still vital

to cogs and gears of the machines: let them overeat you,

your blood,


to receive them.

Rust them.

Push yourselves off ledges and railings

like the fodder you are.

The overwelcome dream that it would get better

(We were, weren’t we? Wonderful, once? Before the takeover?)

stalls you, freezes you,

lifts you from the claws of the edge.

Stop and jump into the gears.

The truth?

Or did you think it was just a cacophony of movie quotes and

American delusions?

Gum them up.


What color were the flowers

before the takeover?

Were they really all different kinds of colors?

Before the takeover, what kinds of things

were the kids playing with,

taken from attics and toy rooms?

What happened to us?

We live with tentacles,

doing things to us

as horrible and


as thoughts;

as looming and prompt as old age.




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