They decry the spiritual physics of being
obsolete while taking refuge
in their academic wonderland
where scientists validate their existence
as the moths eat away Robert Bly’s sweater
dead Beat poets sneer at from shadows
& hard-boned country lads bash wimps
criticizing the almighty King Trump.
The hard realities of life never leave us,
in their stereophonic sound & fury
infiltrating all aspects of our lives
the wire-tappers are bugging electronics
while I’m shopping for deals at Walmart,
thinking about buying a shotgun later
to scare off my ghetto home invaders
trying to steal my bugged computers.
There’s just no end to the wired rat race
where people think smart phones absolve them
from the incursive grip of Uncle Sam.
Beware the knife-wielding lone terrorist
wearing an “I Luv Islam” sweatshirt
trying to attack you in a parking lot
as you’re leaving your local pub
(groggy from a round of potent beers
& eyeball-clouding shots): He is like
the cyber-ghost in your life’s machine,
the messenger of doom paranoia sanctions
from the-great-hacker-in-the-sky’s headquarters.