Ad Astra Per Aspera Nothing Else Is The Real Thing
Drinking from a text book, full of fake wine.
gulping to dissolve that anechoic mind.
with echoes stretching off the pages,
I designate imaginary/real.
using children's tears as anesthetic,
we dissect teh rhetoric.
still the self, commodified, is severed
from our feelings. we want them back.
this spectacle, this history
is rewritten to please.
everybody laughs now.
we're audience to mystery
of disconnected history.
we're audience to tragedy
of disconnected majesty