Death underneath
Cold North November skies
Where the veil between worlds
Becomes thin, shimmering ribbons of light
In the Night sky,
A chilling ache
Spreads from within,
No one to keep you warm at night
Never to know love again
Like a slave in a galley
Rowing all day
Rhythm is monotonous
Mechanical emotion
Lifeless eyes, grey blood,
Plastic love.
Exhaustion.
-JACK BLARE
When it’s too black & foggy to see
And too cold out to care,
The damaged damned huddle together
With quiet strength, survivor’s solidarity
That somehow keeps life going.
Despite the immense size
Of the vast and frozen digital wastelands
That stretches across this disembodied age.
-Jack Blare
As I look upon the world with older eyes
Colours start to mix & bleed through,
The great play at last is revealed to be,
Nothing more than comic tragedy.
Jagged pieces of the past jerk in & out of skewed patterns,
Take fractured tumbles down murderous, beckoning staircases,
Change the course of nature with the tip of a needle.
Nothing will feel the same again.
Old lies pool like old oil spills.
Truth comes naked, hard & vicious thrusting,
Scorching holes in my young worm’s brain.
Leaving life pathetic, limp, wheezing.
Too much joy wasted exploding into womb of poppy-red sun.
-Jack Blare
Deluded consumers of the me generation
Every bit their parents’ children.
Changing counterculture for haute couture and ties
Capitalist manure and lies.
Doublespeak, doublethink, double lives
Perpetuating a flawed system
Founded on, blind ignorance
Populist subservience.
The world doesn’t want words
It wants success and money.
People don’t want to think,
To face the bald horror of reality,
Exploited cogs of an exploitive system
That compresses the voiceless poor
Into fossil fuels, lithium deposits
To be ravaged by the privileged
Western masses, whose wounds are
As bruises to gunshots.
As herpes to ebola.
The wealthy are divided against themselves
While death spreads across the wider world
Unchecked, unheeded, ignored.
–Jack Blare
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