Rick in the Rainbow Lounge
Every day he’s there
Like good clockwork.
The equation is
Hard liquor and Coke on the one hand, while
The insulin pump pushes in on the other.
Pure poison and the health of medication
Are equally effective
In making him Not Rick
But a thin, brittle, opposite-of-autonomous object
A receptacle, a host, a tin bucket
A tool for the use of parasitic, living, liquid molecules
A plastic toy with which substances and light and shadows play.
He holds the scales outstretched and even.
Real justice is surely the limbo
Between a blind life and a death.
Truth is not the American way, and
Whether one thinks it is or not
Depends on the definition.
We get “truth” from the TV
Or sermons, seated next to our selves
Our practically identical family
Friends and FOX
Or we figure truth out
Like any other mathematics
That rainbows are made of water and sunshine
Refracted, and so
Calculations can be objective, can be a little bit of safety.
Conservative thinkers can watch the most basic facts, the CSI shows, without guilt or anger
While the stoners stare at the pixelated, binary slickness of Showtime.
Than either of those, though. This is entertainment
Not active involvement, not evolution, not
Equality won for
The races, for the sexual differences.
The numbers, the digits in their heads
Won’t, can’t reach
They are fed with electronics and images
And the illusion of learning. They want to sit still.
Stay steady, Rick
On your stool. It was engineered with numerals
To hold your weight.
Conserve, hold together, your enthusiasm
Your hope, the length of your
The breadth of your service to, but not your coddling kindness to, not your indulgences of, yourself.
It might look right anyway.
You believe that’s what matters.
I’m no happier than you are
Bill O’Reilly is
Than I am
But my will is certain, that
Neither my placidity nor my actions will destroy my potential
Or me, or you
Or him, or her
My flashing yellow pride does not just exist out of nowhere, you know.
It was not a gift, granted by the sky. It was fucking methodically fought for, hard
Like you could be fighting if you wanted to live.
Strength is founded, and
Yours could be
Not only upon these drops
Of cold, lazy, pulling, insidious, thick liquid
And too-bright stripes of warm, waking, pretty, shining light
But in a huge, intrinsic power, in a hulking knowledge
That the liquid and the light are the primordial, stackable blocks of life itself
Essentially unchangeable, yet traveling, malleable possibilities of discovery, the
Unequivocal construction of the universe.
Equations, fairness and balance, sense, can be forced into it
Or out of it
It is never only our falling down with gravity or
Our flying up with helium or with petroleum, with rocket fuel, it is
Never only our perceptions, our sensations.
The fact that we see, that
We can move, that
We can know the atomic arrangements of
The lights and
And the medicines
That we can take them
Or leave them
That all of these elements
These parts, these pieces, their
Their potential, yours
To be recombined
Or be taken by
To move toward
Or away from
-- -- -- -- --
Under that neon with that drink in your hand
Your chances, statistically, your choices, and then, again, your chances
by Coke Brown Jr. -
as posted on Coke's Croaks -