It's A Living

A poem by Allen Masterson.

Absorbed into the machinations of a

Honeycomb personality disorder,

Synchronized button pushing manifests

A mirrored figurative effect as I

Gnash my teeth and stomp my feet

At the crimes of routine.

Radio frequencies deconstruct molecules

To bond together pieces of a temporary shelter,

Which protects vulnerable creatures from the harsh reality

of their environment; for a fee, of course.

Cold hard cash is the coefficient I concern myself with

in the formula of a punched clock purgatory.

But harpies flutter about, pecking at my psyche

While picking my pocket with a quicksand hand

But there is respite down the corridor of time

Where behind unlocked doors whisper Saturn and Sun

The promises of security from society

And rumors.... of The Great 401.

Reviews

[tekphobik]

I really do enjoy the darkness of this piece. You use strong metaphors for surviving daily life, or at least, how it is to try and survive it.