POEM: Constipated Destiny

He knew knot
Exactly where
He was going
As fate would have it
Seized by easy convictions
Big house
Auto, pilot
And every won else’s
Re-guard
Of one self full
Filled
Buy in
And sell out
In
A sure thing
The gold
In rule
A void
Apprehensions
Of vassal late
Making one’s self
The whore of certain knowledge
The john of undared
Unfailing in his coarse
Fining himself
Scared to dearth
Of his constipated destiny meting

This poem deals with the and danger of pursuing material and cashing in on .  The good is all too often pawned off as having fine or relishing in or have a way of possessing us.  In a world where so many have so little, fine can be devilish.  or has a way of simply highlighting our own emptiness or in a pressurized or scrutinized existence.  Fine and are typically acquired through the successful use (and misuse) of , or simply through unmerited .  Albeit, sometimes comes through more notorious means.  Still, we all know where this leads: the well-worn hierarchies of winners and losers.  In a constipated destiny, everyone knows their place.  Predictability (sometimes better known as ‘’) and fatalism serve as substitutes for true daring and bold .  Well-worn (and rulers) of the game leave little but cheap thrills and expensive highs to assuage our stultified lives.  The bulk of our lives are leased for weekends.  Passionate vocations are bartered for passing vacations.  sold for certainty.  pimped for of being a sucker, or worse.  May you live a where you are not scared to dearth, settling for mere material finery or tranquilizing status, a constipated destiny, or hellish blandness.  May you follow your in a way that literally scares the out of others!

 

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