His Master's Voice

Welcome to all receiving our signal
positioned within the grasp of unrelenting possibility
freed from the routine indignities suffered at the factory
captured at the moment of cathartic full-blown disclosure
a dream of continuance and money back guarantee
Blessed, yet drawn to the face on the pamphlet
the eyes of the less fortunate nomadic client sub-sets
still suffering the discomfort of the free trial installation
great human struggle cleansed of all possible contradiction
mortality’s stain airbrushed from forecast revenue projection
Mobilized, yet too refined to be military
the chrome, the leather, the limited edition cup holder
consumer culture camps inside a pro-democracy free market cell
shrink-wrapped tight to relaxed-fit post-modern consciousness
high definition alter of phone service, rhythm, anonymous sex
All high, we buzz like our sponsor (SONY)
a rare narcotic glamour of dysfunctional celebrity crucifixion
aerobic reproductive posturing and trademark simulated jazz spanking
pre-moistened, lemony-fresh, sum of all experience thrust percussion
your tribal elder’s voice emanating from inside the pop star husk
So listen my children, and you will hear
the sound of misbegotten souls in the long night of division
consumed by the amplified voice, false virtue, theatrical longing
each of us according to our need and major credit card affiliation
seated in the VIP section of the aluminum megaplex esophagus
Such spectacle, oh rowdy hymn to privilege
the reassuring twang of our beloved cowboy death anthem
while a choir of famous kidnapped children (bathed blue light)
prepare us for an appearance by the people's choice trinity
Pre-War Elvis, Young Jesus, Jack Nicholson as the Joker
Never more alive, we openly mock gravity
the crushed velvet souvenir post-apocalyptic ascension
a tiny hand-painted porcelain puppy’s puzzled reflection
in shimmering gold puddle of his own nervous invention
his master’s voice from within the salty bubble burst

And we thought of a life of nothing to do
no task at had, no all-pervasive scheme
just a slow song of winged intervention
black crow chorus from an ashtray ring

----

Home | Poetry