Glamor

Out-thought, outfought and out-gunned
Pinned down in a mental trench
With ammo running low
And the supply train backed up
Several miles away
Behind those hills

You’re knee deep in
The shit you’ve been spouting
And the shovel you hold is the
Only weapon you have to hand
So keep on digging
Deep, down

Where your mental fortitude meets
The furnace that has long since
Been abandoned
It’s no more than a hatstand my friend
You are just a pretty face
With all the lacquer run thin
And the wax weeping from the canvas

Plainer than the plains and planing down
The sand, taking a belt sander to that
Rusty old brain box and you’ll crack it open
To find you’re two screws short of a shed
And you’re the not the sharpest tool

Weave your glamor
Cast your wide net and hope they’re
Ensnared
Unaware and meeting what you’ve
Allowed to approach their eye

The ewe and I graze greedily
Munching, chomping down in the pasture
I take turns with the tern on my back
To guess why we graze
Yet the ewe that is you
Plaintively bleats back
I’ve heard that we follow the herd

When all that you’ve said
Cannot be done
When every river bed you’ve followed
Has run dry and the road has ran out
When you’ve exhausted all hope
And that body lies limp
Remember that you did the best with what you had
Which is more than many or most

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Progress

Maybe next year senorita
Take a breath and slow down
Don’t rush, time is short
But you don’t want another
Panic attack

Diagnosed and dedicated to
Taking care of what ails you
Yet there’s no cure for the human condition
Misanthropy and misery
Paint that smile on

Run on, run along
Pound the pavement
Feet hot against the tarmac
Wind in your hair, sun on your back
Your nipples chafing against your shirt

It’s bad for your knees, everything is bad for something
Stand and fight and fall and die
At the end of the day and the start of the night
There is really only one certainty in life

We’re hot on our forebears forepaws
But they had four paws and lived on the forest floor
Are we any better or any worse
Improvise, adapt and overcome

But we can’t defeat death
We just see it coming
Is it really better to know
Or is sentience just our sentence
Penance for pissing on the pyre of progess