Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Meaty Carcasses Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Saturday 3/20/2010 12:40:00 AM

Cold sheep shiver in the wool. The work. It flows through our fingers. Slips through. We have nothing. Everything is theirs. And we give it to them willingly. Vultures never hunger. Because there are always dead.

Waiting. Protesting. Meager victories. Obscure the machine. Peasants. Slaves. Victims. Of our own fear. Fear the dollar. Fear the god machine. Fear the greed that would inspire the riches we seek.

Selfish. Stubborn. Stupid. The cold comes and we shiver. Who to blame for the lack of heat. We can't purchase. We can't afford. The right to live.

Everything we once owned now belongs to them. Stolen. As we borrowed against the fraudulent dreams they promised.

Nowhere to go. No one to represent. Whore. Liars. Vultures. Tweak the system for their own benefit. Minor victories inspire complacency. Keep us quiet.

Our meaty carcasses continue to keep the fattest fed.

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