Oblivious Surface

Supposed experts of expression
grasp at their equality with greatness;
whispers of memories of segments of a dream.
Fame is all dreams come true.

Open minds open wallets
and throw live stock at flesh,
leaving with memories they’d pay to forget.
What past time is worth retaining?

Projections of gold-plated medicines
in bubbles, blown out from speakers
burst over the entirety of the listeners,
and gold is the ultimate in remedy.

Made healthy enough to fill
a manufactured lack at the expense
of all other possible ambition,
but to be the face of a glorious landfill.

Excess denoting success
sneers at the ground and
gnashes sharp teeth toward the sky.
If only gravity still gripped the cloud’s heels.

What about you and me
we know better than both,
the packaging and consumer belong to each other,
and we stand aloof, with everyone else.

Counterfeit experts of expression
obliviously whisper, talk and shout,
building on the anonymity of yesterday,
burying profound architecture in red-brick supermarket.

Charlatan experts of expression
stand on a hollow pedestal
mimicking the scaffolding of yesteryear,
not the beauty that grew up beneath.

Actual experts of expression
are hidden beneath the landfill of non-degradable
manufactured needs, met and thrown out,
met and thrown out, met and thrown out.

Buried for a generation;
fossils of gems to be excavated
and appreciated through pleasant sand of hindsight,
and the scepticism of a glass display case.

Written January 2010


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