Matthew Harris | + Follow Poet |
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Glory To Thermodynamics

and spoils of Western Civilization.

Thrum of the central heater...
manually activated upon advent of twilight
(since yours truly not resident within "smart home"),
nevertheless warm cockles and muscles
appreciate basking, and luxuriating,
within climate controlled environment,
whether bone chilling deep freeze of winter

sets indentured jaws chattering
or contrarily when sweltering
hazy, humid and hot
dawg days of summer
necessitates setting air conditioner
at refreshing sixty degrees fahrenheit.

I could never survive alone in the wilderness
which dependence on creature comforts
inured me since birth,
but all the more power to people
(such as Dick Proenneke
pronounced pren-icky)
who live off the grid,
and minimize their carbon footprint.

Truth be told, a non impactful lifestyle
tantalizes, teases, titillates...
yours truly, a garden variety generic human
dependent on consonant contrivances
and conveniences conditioned
courtesy capitalistic consumeristic credo
decrying his dependence
upon flow of electrons,
whereby flip of switch
instantaneously allows, enables,

and provides electricity
with absolute zero ability
to stave off blackout
attributed to sudden disruption
regarding power outage
linkedin with severe
kickstarted meteorological phenomena
or terroristic machinations
(possibly even homegrown unrest)
signaling the end

of the webbed wide world
reducing to rubble
(think being bombed back into stone age)
annihilating trappings
of twenty first century civilization
forcing survivors to learn basic skills
cooperation, integration, and utilitarian virtues
altruistic, democratic, humanistic,
mechanistic, and socratic zest
begotten, distilled, and forged
nsync with opposable thumb.

Angst crimps existence
generating dystopian thoughts
despite countless factorial permutations
and combinations, this cyber surfer avails two alms
boot Grinchian genes snatched such balms
when tethered in utero umbilical connection,
etched bromide, which hankering calms

embryonic sensation this corporeal being lacks
constantly subjected to exams
from the school of hard knocks
which I bewail sets back and gloms
mine aim to revel in blissful contentment
but circumstances decrees otherwise
cursing this chap tubby haunted

by veritable elfin grotto dwelling phantoms
hovering over sweet clover dials a mirage
yes...Iris sieve blurbs from gals and guys
that spans the world wide web, and exude
premature ejaculatory ecstasy, puzzled if fie
totally tubular trod a tedious trek
along the boulevard of broken dreams

what happenstance oft finds thyself to flail
amidst difficulty to maximize
optimal opportunities searching for Holy Grail
or whatever constitutes such lofty
personal objective, perchance being hale
and hearty of body, mind and spirit

spurs the furies of fate tut test this primate
while he aims to gallop with mighty industrial
vim and vigor leaving a virtual cloud
of dust, though mindfulness helps
to pass go, and chance avoid jail
time, then maybe monopolized feedback offered

to this toothless mwm (with gumption) quasi-vegetarian
enjoying poetry stone soup, yet also subsisting
on supplementary vitamin packed glue tin free
NON GMO fruity tall tales for a male
thirty nine years shy sans bing a centenarian,
which span of life best cut short with a nail
(possibly nine inches) hammered into

faux coffin, cuz this imp doth turn pale
at the prospect to fill up a space of land
best utilized by birds - such as quail
mongoose, or ibis (though aye ne'er saw
one), where cremated ashes sail
across some verdant plain under

cerulean skies putting to rest every travail
which thoughts of dem eyes spells
the main impetus explaining this rambling spiel
warp and woof ova gauzy veil
imperceptibly looms closer upon
turrets of my digital sea faring gunwale
and thus desperation finds pleading for salvation.

Copyright © Matthew Harris | Year Posted 2020

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