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Dinosauria, We (blue man) | by Quixosis
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Dinosauria, We (blue man)

Dinosauria, We

by Charles Bukowski


Born like this

Into this

As the chalk faces smile

As Mrs. Death laughs

As the ele­va­tors break

As polit­i­cal land­scapes dis­solve

As the super­mar­ket bag boy holds a col­lege degree

As the oily fish spit out their oily prey

As the sun is masked

We are

Born like this

Into this

Into these care­fully mad wars

Into the sight of bro­ken fac­tory win­dows of empti­ness

Into bars where peo­ple no longer speak to each other

Into fist fights that end as shoot­ings and knif­ings

Born into this

Into hos­pi­tals which are so expen­sive that it’s cheaper to die

Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty

Into a coun­try where the jails are full and the mad­houses closed

Into a place where the masses ele­vate fools into rich heroes

Born into this

Walk­ing and liv­ing through this

Dying because of this

Muted because of this




Because of this

Fooled by this

Used by this

Pissed on by this

Made crazy and sick by this

Made vio­lent

Made inhu­man

By this

The heart is black­ened

The fin­gers reach for the throat

The gun

The knife

The bomb

The fin­gers reach toward an unre­spon­sive god

The fin­gers reach for the bot­tle

The pill

The pow­der

We are born into this sor­row­ful dead­li­ness

We are born into a gov­ern­ment 60 years in debt

That soon will be unable to even pay the inter­est on that debt

And the banks will burn

Money will be use­less

There will be open and unpun­ished mur­der in the streets

It will be guns and rov­ing mobs

Land will be use­less

Food will become a dimin­ish­ing return

Nuclear power will be taken over by the many

Explo­sions will con­tin­u­ally shake the earth

Radi­ated robot men will stalk each other

The rich and the cho­sen will watch from space plat­forms

Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s play­ground

The sun will not be seen and it will always be night

Trees will die

All veg­e­ta­tion will die

Radi­ated men will eat the flesh of radi­ated men

The sea will be poi­soned

The lakes and rivers will van­ish

Rain will be the new gold

The rot­ting bod­ies of men and ani­mals will stink in the dark wind

The last few sur­vivors will be over­taken by new and hideous dis­eases

And the space plat­forms will be destroyed by attri­tion

The peter­ing out of sup­plies

The nat­ural effect of gen­eral decay

And there will be the most beau­ti­ful silence never heard

Born out of that.

The sun still hid­den there

Await­ing the next chapter.


Acrilico & spray sobre lienzo


28x24 cm

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Taken on January 9, 2010