​thick as a brick …






bends in the pathway, obscuring the view, akin to the twists of this life, at each turn expectant of starting anew,


rolling and rambling on streets of splintered glass, hoping against hope that this too shall pass,


beyond quaint idioms and hollow platitudes flung around, taking a pained step further on the broken ground,


we walk along, carrying the flickering flame of hope, held dearly in the recesses of the heart, braving the gales that swirl, threatening to tear it all apart,


we fake smiles, and pretend that all is well, breaking a little more each passing day, nursing that foreboding feeling, of staring down a deep well,


what has become of us, needing so little yet ever grasping for so much, splitting love into twos and threes, eroding casually the sensual feeling, of that ever sought after human touch,


how have we trashed, the genuineness of gentle love, for a couple of trinkets of gold, scurrying around this auction floor, where sentiments are traded, bought, and sold,


in a world of treading on people, in lusty blindness, always wanting to accrue more, selling our souls to the highest bidder, bargaining away the virtue of being humane, yanked out of our very core,


yes, it is true that we must seek more to luxuriate, in bubbly jacuzzis cleansing the outsides, while toxic greed feeds, rapacious, insatiable, clawing out the essence of our hollowed insides,


in this diseased society, where one is branded by the label of a shoe, where flimsy haute couture becomes impenetrable, poisoning all that we say, and much of what we do,


does this rant make you yawn, not for just its tepid verse, but because it feels so wishy-washily preachy, against all that we are taught to slobber over and fawn,


if so, dismiss it all as the ravings of a temporarily unhinged mind, that has sought out pristine places, as they become ever more difficult to find,


and render it all rubbish, in style and in so-called verse, far too eager to make it all rhyme, sanctimonious and long winded, humid and fetid, relegating it all, to await garbage collection time,


well, these may be the disjointed thoughts threaded together, a patchwork of ivory tower rhetoric, lost in the incomprehension of words, just words that do not stick,


well, that’s fine, for we have all heard it before, the mindless chattering of a brain,


thick as a brick.





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