Itinerant walls converge in corners,
confining the eye to civilized angles.
It’s nothing to be obtuse about,
that is the way we progress.
Even our curves are sculpted by scalpels;
ripped, shaped and reformed,
into something other than human.
Other than us.
Just not good enough.
God’s perfect creation,
was merely a good place to start.
A worthy attempt,
begging for improvement.
No one gets to live in paradise.
The ideal life we strip away,
the forest tree by tree,
the beaches grain by grain,
the mind cell by cell.
Until the wasteland before the eye,
matches the one behind it.
Then we really get going.
Erecting palaces to our phalluses
Great stone structures like pharaoh
Eradicating bird and beast and reason;
to flex upon the Earth our grandeur.
Forgetting all the world’s great structures
are tombs.
Mystical geometry cannot abate the reaper.
No skin stretched taut over cheekbone
will ever fool the maggot.
All these lines all converge on the horizon
and progress is a mirage.
No one gets to live in paradise.

HG – 2015

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