Friday, June 27, 2008


On a newly-constructed pavement you passed
With a smile that, beyond the street-end, didn't last
You are the shaman, and I am the skeleton undead
Raised from your many adventures in bed.

Soaked by sights of your seductive glance,
How many more did take the chance?
Monuments to love, your kisses so deep,
Poisoned by venom, oh, the price's so steep.

This is our new superset, of moral value.
Suicide is on display, every afternoon.

This Metropolis has such lovely tales
Of human emotions sealed in coffins, properly nailed.
Disposable incomes and disposable friends,
Corporate communication, mixing dangerous blends.

30% off on Lingerie, the "implants" of Showciety,
And conflicting thoughts of consumerist piety,
Imprison once-free minds in urban structures--of Architects, these concrete scriptures--
Archiving their aspirations, lives and billions of sentences
On clusters of Terabyte-Servers storing Google's indexes.

This is our new superset, of moral bloom.
Fratricide is on display, every afternoon.

From their chairs in Ivory Towers of might and light,
And all that is supposed to be right,
Hissing Prodigals of Serpents bleed dry our lives
Crusading against gods they denounced as a lie.

Sometimes, one wishes for more
Sometimes, one wants to go... home.
But blinding lights have numbed the pain,
Souls have stopped crying in vain.
Love and hate have been found again,
In TV channels and spaces between static grain.

This is our new superset, of moral doom.
Deicide is on display, every afternoon.

Caught between the Devil and the deep sea, It’s true,
For the dead, I ain’t singing any prayer or two.
In this city of lights orange and fluorescent blue,
Superman saves souls no more than few.