Surreality by Joel Hardin

 

nothing can long linger

in castles made of air

nor the cosmic finger

remove life’s bitter stinger

for nothing true is fair

 

a billion cocks deflower

the mutilated dove

while greedy hearts devour

(whether sweet or sour)

a feast of butchered love

 

more and more it’s hard to give

a dime a prayer a fuck

unmindful sheep forgive

themselves to shit and live

and wallow in the muck

 

dreams are bought and sold and leased

and mysteries are few

with ennui increased

and novelty deceased

at least

oblivion is new

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