the art of the modern world
Posted: October 1st, 2016, 2:05 pm
I'm looking in the junkyard
for the meaning of the sacred
and the meaning of the profane
as a teenager I became a beatnik
I was looking for a different way to talk
a beatnik is an artist with words
an abstract expressionist of the mind
because after two world wars
it was time to question the establishment
if it wasn't always time to step beyond
what we are told, and stand back from it
so poetry is in the eye of the beholder
it needs to be reinvented in every age of the page
we must dig down through the mountain of junk
to find the real meaning of words, through layers
of meaning in heaps of disguarded signs
all the cast away idols and objects
that should never have been made that way
to begin with, at what point did we begin to make
our language to be just another cheap facsimily
we find our selves in the graveyard of junkyards
at the bottom of the iron age, where wars go to die
where everything we have been lead to believe is a lie
where nobody knows who they are and wanders
the tons of plastic crap and the talking trash
through the mountains of pills and hills of kills
the stacks of empty churches and factories
not caring about anything that matters to us
this is the last stage of the material world
and in the middle of the dogma debris and reality refuse
the old piles of televisions and computers, cell phone
cathedrals and gutted machines of death and crashed cars
we come across the sacred texts blowing in the stinking wind
will pop your bubble and the poet digs it a little deeper
in the rubble for all trouble it makes
for the meaning of the sacred
and the meaning of the profane
as a teenager I became a beatnik
I was looking for a different way to talk
a beatnik is an artist with words
an abstract expressionist of the mind
because after two world wars
it was time to question the establishment
if it wasn't always time to step beyond
what we are told, and stand back from it
so poetry is in the eye of the beholder
it needs to be reinvented in every age of the page
we must dig down through the mountain of junk
to find the real meaning of words, through layers
of meaning in heaps of disguarded signs
all the cast away idols and objects
that should never have been made that way
to begin with, at what point did we begin to make
our language to be just another cheap facsimily
we find our selves in the graveyard of junkyards
at the bottom of the iron age, where wars go to die
where everything we have been lead to believe is a lie
where nobody knows who they are and wanders
the tons of plastic crap and the talking trash
through the mountains of pills and hills of kills
the stacks of empty churches and factories
not caring about anything that matters to us
this is the last stage of the material world
and in the middle of the dogma debris and reality refuse
the old piles of televisions and computers, cell phone
cathedrals and gutted machines of death and crashed cars
we come across the sacred texts blowing in the stinking wind
will pop your bubble and the poet digs it a little deeper
in the rubble for all trouble it makes