run while you can

Give me a sign.

Obsolete. Icheon, South Korea. Spring 2011.

getting old, growing up, eyes, the window, the door.
i ain’t rich yet, sure as hell ain’t broke no more.

Twenty more years, things movin the way they been,
i’ll be obsolete. An elitist once, man among men,
the driver behind the screw push come to shove,
but now, an inclined plane. my leverage was love.
lord above, the speed, the time, days don’t add,
here I am, my mechanism, half those brains I had.

remember the novelties, the ones we all ate up,
they ought to pay me now, the one brought them up.
but no, my place is still in front, eyes glazed,
staring, the face, the colors, the rat’s race.
that same screen, the tv, the computer, the mp3,
all of it, i see, as pretentious extension of me.

i get your bit, half-dig what you dionysians did:
music, wine, never gave one sign, but me, i only kid


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