Tallon Fassi

There was a hole in my heart

where the dripping of art and beauty and good drained away. 

 It’s so hard to say what it was in the day that kept me so a lark. 

 Could it be the disease which is eating the trees

and making a century of the cow mentality ease?

Reality is what we say it is.   Gee whiz

I just can’t seem to get the drama which is

 The evening news and ”baby mama” speculations.  

 All different hues of the same cultural leprosy. 

 We are walking zombie in a dead sea

passionate disconnects from logic and

 the opposite sex and attraction. 

 Reactions to media interpretation

action from different colors and sisters and brothers.

It all makes me want to crawl underneath the covers.

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Where has the dharma gone?

 Flown the way of the Dodo bird? 

Culture is cosmetic how the fuck was I to know,

head deep in the media flow. 

The current of influence; like the matrix

 this MTV generation was born to witness

 the shaping of a fast food nation

Jerry Springer profits from love Haitians. 

 Under harsh scrutinization a

bout my current vocation

 I declare to be part of a separate denomination

a underground philosophy nation of pirates and gypsies and lovers. 

 To find a joint flow which can carry the load

 of a cacophony of conversations. 

Ha. Ha. Forget it.  I’m just playing.

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The waiting room was as still as a closed crystal cabinate.  I clicked my flip flops and felt as if the silence gobbled it whole.  No one care about poets unless it’s over a beat.  Soap box screaming, good intentions gleaming, funky fresh heat?  And my mom won’t even answer my calls.

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