Dead Flesh Erected on Walking Sticks

the sound of robots

Click, click…
the sound of imagination suffocating

Click click-click…
the sound of existence waning
Clickity-clickity-clickity-clickity-clickity, click…
the sound of brains decaying

Offices cloistered, phobic with
Bugged-eyed, severed-wrist zombies
Erected at electric boxed screens
Paying fruitless homage to unfulfilled dreams
Eight hours a day—eternal damnation. Stuffed
Between dingy-white pillars perch, as peacock tails,
The ignorant learnѐd : mere regurgitations of previous
Regurgitations of the esteemed regurgitated, feasting on incestuous
Vomit, segregated from society by empty, meaningless puffs,
Not knowing they are dead flesh erected on walking sticks
Pieced together with insanity’s glue