Tuesday, April 24, 2012

The National Bus Stop

Another night, like any night
in Prince George.

Sitting at a bar,
watching the city burn
piece by piece.

At some point, it will all be consumed
by flame.

It seems that the bowl is
a decent place
to place
the effigies.

To watch it
all burn,
in a steady,

systematic decline.
Like I said, it was just
another night.


Friday, April 20, 2012

Footsteps, Follow

Look upon this generation of wasted minds, laying waste to the foundations
to which the morality, rhetoric and reason
was set.

"This fallacy cannot continue," yet it was clearly
left [a tendency to eat one's tail], continued.

Most often the attacks were on the individual.
Lackluster in regards to content, and reason. A denoted sense of displacement
in the wastelands of the literary landscape.

The moral compass no longer faced North, and instead
led astray the young, the weak and the old. "Isn't it fascinating?
All the wonders of this barren land, once lush and free from the beast."
"I suppose it is, yet I have never know such wonder, nor have I set my eyes upon
the lands of yesteryear. Those times removed from these blank stares." Laruic replied.

It was then clear that these were the cowboys of local lore.
Fighting not for the desolate and decaying 'Blank Streets,'
only for the mere pleasure
that is
exploration.

These far cries up on that lonely hill, as their eyes rest upon the plumes of waste
rising into the stratosphere.
At first,
these cries were of joy, which soon turned to lament;

they were not the free.