the breath robbing lightning, was making diamonds of rain

the story of nothing

wondering....

if i should call my lawyer about this
would it make more sense if i said it out loud?
would the following words reach paper
or the air.....

the chicago beats upon the door
help drown out the real sounds
the factory whistles of the final shift
the whispering fires of the rendering plant
the sounds of the city fighting itself
it never gets old for me
it gets ancient
the technology fossilizes
mold collects on polished metal
and dirt gets in the circuits
and we start wondering...

what got in the way
why did belief save us from the rain
only to lead us to the ocean
when did biology bite the hand and the bullet
where were the giants of industry
in the middle of the stoned age
neck deep in the last laugh
crushed, like all, under the weight
of passive red skies
showing signs of breaking to the east
tailing the new migration

and it is here
that the beat returns
slamming home the notion
that man will give home
to machine
that the canvas on the door will read
'the war of the cities is over'
we are condemned to live alone
with each other
and tell our own nothing stories
forever and ever
amen

Posted by cainnum at 6:28 AM