This poem is a commentary on ingenuously using overly complicated machinations and demagoguery to achieve simple and base desires of greed and power. This sad state of affairs is empowered by a sufficient pool of fools, or rubes. The poem’s title is derived from a Rube Goldberg machine, which is a chain reaction-type machine or contraption intentionally designed to perform a simple task in an indirect and (impractically) overly complicated way.
Rube Goldberg Rubes
I AM (sic)
Tard
Of cobbling won after the other
A soulless Rube Goldberg machine
Of unfathomable guise
Demeanor the better
Twisted at warp speed
That under
Lying order
A total bluff
Petty prestidigitations
In towering piles
As hole of the world
Plunging entrails
Well
Trod
What will it
Take
Too yearn my keep
Life longing
That whole knew level
Of awe reality
Over and above mirror realty
Flush with the holy possible
Baring our souls
To new heights
Inspiring life-giving heirs
Never halving
Too cross
A line meant
To bar no one
A salud to awe
