This is a poem based off of two previous works: The Love Story of J. Alfred Prufrock by TS Eliot and Prufrock by Charles Modro (a coworker of mine and part of the band Xara. Some of the subject matter is a bit adultish (but not in the late night Cinemax sort of way), so parental discretion advised. Once again, the Blogger formatting isn't friendly to my style of aesthetic writing, so I apologize that you all will miss some of the important indents. Please enjoy...
I can think of death
I can think of life
But to live! that’s the thing
Whether by boats or cars or planes
TVs with a thousand neglected channels on satellite
Computers blazing graphics of endless death
Sex often and obscure—yet I die too.
The car rusts
The TV tubes burst
The orgasm ends
Not with a bang, but a whimper.
I’ve become the Hollow Men, for we are many.
What foul principality has a hold of us now?
Whiter teeth in twenty days
Faster internet speed
Now this new, now that new
But the grass still grows the same way.
The body has severed the Head
Then the arms
Now the toes have to learn war.
Cry out, “God, deliver us!”
Deliver us from our greatest enemy!
The Hater of our souls!
His name is Hollow Men.
“Make war on our foes!” we cry
Waiting for the evening news
To flash our enemies’ demise
And the falling price of gasoline.
This is your life,
Ending one second at a time.
Two and you’re considered fortunate.
Priests on Viagra is the opiate of the masses
Turning our hearts away from finding
The hidden God.
The Hollow Men is filled up to the brim,
His cup overflows with the wrath of the lamb
A table is set in the presence of his enemies
A table for one please
I’ll be dining alone tonight.
Eat well and eat long
Glut on varied delights
I’d like fries with that
Coffee two…no three cups
The poor wouldn’t like the taste anyway
They should be happy they have jobs
God loves everyone
The vomitorium, replies the waiter, is on your left.
The Lord is coming, the Lord is acomin’
Shield Co. will stop the nighttime thief
Whose house we stole.