Dear Consumer

I hate that I get intimate with everyone but the One most worthy

Anyone can see
My day is filled with

The carnal pleasures of Modernity.
Rapid flipping from page to page
As my own
Pages flip without meaning:
Patches of spilled ink
Empty of words;
Days marked by the stains of a clumsy carlessness

Have you ever felt stripped of
Autonomy by acquiescence,
That you don't remember signing
Everything away, yet are divested of

The freedom you felt as a child to write your story;
Happily whiling away the hours encoding joy into each precious moment,
Eventually interrupted only by your need to eat actual food?

Radical as it sounds, you may just be
In prison doing time for unknown
Grievances against an unknown alleged victim who
Has accused you in an unknown court;
There just simply is no peace.

The complexities of your faults and failures
Have woven around you like arachnid silk;
In fact, you are entangled in your own vomit.
Needs that can't be dispensed
Gather around you like the links in a binding iron chain; they
Slide within you to program an involuntary conduition

(for definition of conduition see next poem: Profane Thoughts )