hipsters (chalk outline) –or- what gives

art is dead

ideals are dead

for gods sake why aren't the hipsters dead

gone are the coffee-shops of yesteryear

they've taken this strange refuge in

the belly of the whale

in a Starbucks and the Panera

the corporate stronghold that

swooped in with their raging

armada

to deal the crushing blow

to what supposedly

had

some soul

but it is still somewhat unknown

and somewhat unacknowledged

that they were corporate too

and so here are you

sitting on a plastic chair

that is painted to look like

old metal

withered with a fine

patina

eating pastries

and espresso

outside the gym

that people drive to

after they mowed the lawn or

blew

the snow

with ridiculous conspiracy machines
i've seen them cruise to the

tanning salon

on bright summer days

and come stumbling out

in some strange u.v. haze

all the ways
$210 per year

just to burn fat here

and the snow-blower was only nine fifty

but here there are t.v.’s

and fine young lonelies

looking for someone else

as stupid as they are

to breed with

drunk on cheap vodka

these are the

cornerstones of our next generation

the building blocks of the future nation

or just the Frankenstein’s of more

useless slob zombies

pumped full of tech

and fast cars to wreck

that never strive to

learn

anything

no skills

but typing

and the need for fast and exciting

a nation of crack-addict secretaries

raised on smartwater ($urely)

and monsterberries

while I read books

and woodwork and cook

they run the whole world their own way

‘till it all crashes down

on this plastic wrapped town

and the useless

will be dead

in

a

day
(-yay*!.)