A softness falls…a gentle
rain of tears, of fears of
times we lost and have
forgotten…we are the
last of what came before
and we come up short
again and again. Our
generation, our always
on, always disappointed
seeming, singing, losing
winning can’t be bothered
can’t be pushed, can’t be
convinced generation is
less somehow, is more
somehow.

We lie to the television
thinking no one cares
we lie to ourselves
thinking no one’s there
we lie because the truth
is too dull to sell soap
we lie in the nightly dreams
that we call hope

We lie because it’s all
we know how to do

We know that we can
reverse this can rehearse
this, can stop this insanity
this calamity but what
what, what do we do while
waiting for someone else
to move first. We click
through our lives like so
many adverts so many
promises un-kept we click
click past the graveyard
our generation’s whistle
our lost weekend gluten
free, organic and somehow
dead.

We lie to the television
thinking no one cares
we lie to ourselves
thinking no one’s there
we lie because the truth
is too dull to sell soap
we lie in the nightly dreams
that we call hope

We lie because it’s what
we do best