Five Postcards

1.
Listen.
NOW THAT COMMUNISM IS DEAD
MY LIFE FEELS EMPTY!
(on a continuous basis)
Art for art's sake. at some point
All of those things became so
Strange. My desire was always to
Contaminate
Because it got to the point where
You could not represent
Anything. 
Nationalist references,
HOW YOU CAN HELP:
never try to judge things.

II.
Politics and the Arts!
Unlock the mysteries of
Counter-revolutionary
Adulteration, 
PROGRESS,
and skullduggery
(classes are in session 24/7)

III.
SEVEN NEW DEADLY SINS:
conservatism
Publicity
Debates
Tribalism
Democratic consultation
Poetic truth
Parody

Government's response to it:
a free society.

IV.
Intolerant Tolerance!
"You can't be serious."
wisdom required a protagonist
That attempts to bridge the
Gulf between

The desire for autonomy

And the reality of LAW

And the promises of empathy.

V.
Personal identification (of America)
Get Connected.
We are pleased to announce that
Emotional Reactivity
Summarizes the demographic
And physical health-related
Characteristics of 
THE RESPONSE TO DEATH AND DYING
among student neuroticism

Denton County, Texas

pedal down through suburbia
sunlight peeking between every tree
the minister's impeccable voice
through the static of the radio
(the music was much better)
good morning, officer
you'd be right to ask
if I had a late night
speeding home to bed just a little bit
why aren't you at church? I want to ask
as he decides to find bigger fish
return my plastic card of 'under 21 until'
(you literally don't exist without it)
beckon me back onto the pilgrimage
of that roadway between city and nature
and head home to his nuclear wife and kids
while some computer server somewhere
decides my escapade home is a ruse
and a bible somewhere else sits unopened
on the shelf of that poor, poor policeman
that gave his life to the devil
that same evening before.

My suicide is meaningless:

My entirety is divided.
My nation is diluted
among the forces that be:
the blasé capture
of an entire generation.

I have the formula
for total intellectual destruction
HELD IN MY HANDS,
waiting patiently, like a gasoline phoenix,
to flitter into the sky and light them all ablaze.

WILL THIS REVOLUTION EVER COME?
We’ve sat and waited for an eternity.
We can taste the variance on our tongues,
The glorious overthrow,
The insurgence of reason,
Our manifest manifestation,
Shushed like the underagers
Among the concrete and the bedsheets
And the capitalistic seesaws and battlegrounds
That separate the artistic from the mundane.

I am having a hell of a time
Keeping in line with the flame.
I need this universal theme
Of progression and pain
To bury and bloom
Into a love of our opportunity-
For the mutual welfare and brotherhood
Of progress.

My suicide may be meaningless, but yours would change everything.