Totem Piles

Building one thing then another

in tidy lines and piles they sit:

by making roads and high skyscrapers

we've engineered "the perfect fit".

Forever chasing that horizon

while reaching for a distant star,

starved to find some foreign landscape

never content with where we are. 

Falling forward, to follow through

the blind trajectory of cupid’s hit.

Collecting coins and random tokens to gauge each gain and deficit. Falling forward towards another step,

these exploits fill a barren map.

Yet we’re no closer to the finish:

just cursed to run another lap.

 

GEN Zombie

Half alive or living dead?

I wonder what they could be feeling.

A whole generation in mechanical motion

like a line of red ants on the ceiling.

A stale smile on a frowning face, 

a stiffened glance like day-old bread.

When they do decide to look at you 

they’re staring just beyond your head.

Shoot them up with flashing lights,

from that pocket slot machine.

No need to drop a single dime  

to lock them in their own fluorescent dream.

And say a voice were heard from outer space

claiming it could pound us flat,

they’d shrug and be quite unimpressed,

quite certain “there’s an app for that.”