I find myself searching

for acceptance

inclusion

some truth to the illusion

that we are all one

lately this man

has become an island

with an out stretched hand

watching the boats float by

I indulge in poverty

always being rich with words

and poor with payed for distractions

sing me a sad song

about political pop stars

serial sadist

who invade our privacy

with private policy

where the protector

is the enemy

we light cigarettes

from the ashes of American flags

where we recycle

all paper money

and require

everyone to write their great story

I am an island

with delusions of grandeur

starving and hallucinating

at least Christmas will never come

hope is a stomach ache

formed from a jaded heart

the revolution will only be

a day dream

and this island

needs to dream

to join the rat race

while living the myth

of Sisyphus