Surreality by Joel Hardin
nothing can long linger
in castles made of air
nor the cosmic finger
remove life’s bitter stinger
for nothing true is fair
a billion cocks deflower
the mutilated dove
while greedy hearts devour
(whether sweet or sour)
a feast of butchered love
more and more it’s hard to give
a dime a prayer a fuck
unmindful sheep forgive
themselves to shit and live
and wallow in the muck
dreams are bought and sold and leased
and mysteries are few
with ennui increased
and novelty deceased
at least
oblivion is new
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