These gilded streets

i hate the feeling of listlessness

as if wandering in an abyss

of myself and my

solitude

Trapped in my own declaration

of procrastination

and the pressure grown

of this damn capitalist

society.

Demanding the slit wrist

of those useless scumbags

Decorating the streets and denying this skit

Homeless, unemployed, impoverished, unproductive

Hoping for help and receiving

a christening of

Disgust and disapproval

From princesses and mistresses

And men

Cold-blooded

Sometimes I wish

for the fortitude of a salamander.

Expelling noxious fumes while

slinking through the oleander,

and sunning on radiation graced rocks

unfettered from the need to pander

at the feet of some slanderous demander.

I’d like to dive below the water line,

catch sight of Aquarius as I take a gander

and find a silent sort of candor.