A cattle of assholes. They stare not knowing,

understanding very little, obsessed

with their jobs and how “great” their lives are.

It’s easy to scowl and jeer at those different

when you’re all the same. I don’t need

a relationship when I have total control

over space. Only certain things matter,

and I’ve found them all in a single place,

flashing with life. People will pass, only a few

understand, but even fewer will ever see

what I truly am.


People pass into the folds of something

without recognizing your insignificance.

You’re bold in the manly multitude

of pale Bogarts blocking the soda machine,

feigning evolutionary perfection behind

a bag of Cheetos. A spirit of confidence

unleashes into an argument

over whether Star Wars is science fiction,

or fantasy, and the girls don’t matter

when you hide within an army of Titans

fighting evil on an empty battlefield.

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