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,
to receive 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.
Or did you think it was just a cacophony of movie quotes and
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 looming and prompt as old age.