The Million Dollar Poetry Project

ya herd?

by Wolfgang Nibori

sheeple, not the first time it’s been said, nor last

grazing along, electric grass, but the shapes astound me

long ago i learnt wool used to be hair, like deer

inbreeding made it curl, a human aiming for utility

flocking in fields, allegedly tender, allegedly gentle

doe-eyed, simple-minded, pure, unrefined, wolves disguised

all that’s dowsing for a deeper meaning you don’t need

whenever a source lives, breathes, we make stories

explanations not even required to understand the uncomplex

it’s all complex if that’s what you’re looking for. and you are.

the naked eye translates light shadows into recognition

assuming cognition’s prior, no guarantees there

listening to the pitter patter conversation dialed

browsing along until suddenly some sharp turn leads to

hanging up, so many hang ups, each one of us, even hidden

apart at seams, jumping hoops, climbing ladders after the Fall

excuses seem fuel for endless fantasy no one’s even judging

i believe it’s pretty clear in the end

please, just talk to me it’s all we’re asking, isn’t it?

Inspiration: Dialing You & Ramming it Home

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gerbil wheel notions

by Wolfgang Nibori

beneath the blanket of everyday society

man trods directly over his own past

drinking, then burning all that’s come before

a bone-soup cocktail of long-rotten carcassi

each day devouring about a century of the last

spitting out a black plume of nostalgia, rising into open air

choking us all to death in carbon dust, or so they say

they say a lot of things i wonder about, deadly information

today appears so dangerous, so vile, so immediate

what happened to clubs, stones, sharpened wooden points

or predators bigger, stronger, bolder, faster

gluttonizing a species at a time

well, we’ve paved over top of that, too

so we will, until a new way arises, then that replaces

layer upon layer, the world some painting by an artist who

rarely admits his own mistakes

inspiration: looks very pretty

This poem for sale.

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