AC (12-16-1981 DOD: everyday / )


Twenty-four hours have left me here,
twenty-four more minute minutes speaking in baritone.

Time has stolen from me, wasted my youthful self-pity,
borrowed my simplicity in exchange for madness.

I want to control the world.
If I were president everyone would be homeless,
we'd all work twenty-four-seven in manikin factories,
building a damper future for all the wee zombies.

Every evening we'd all sit blankly
watching the sunset then we'd start again;
slave to a never ending grave-yard shift.

When people got old
and no more work could be done
by their multi-tasking hands-
I'd kill the withered
and use the spare limbs to decorate
a humanistic hall-of-fame
so that the matrix we are uploading for tomorrow's embryos-
in 3003 the robotic powers that be,
can chuckle at the expression of our so-called actions of sacrifice...

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