Passive aggressive notes on bathroom stalls at the Dead Letter Office

The unsafe sexual revolution will be televised and Tivo’d
media blitz hip hop karma sutra.
Can you dig it, grave slaves with nocturnal transmissions.
Constantly tapping S.O.S. milking of the American dream.
The media nipples never running dry
never weened from force feed thought or the desire
the bitter taste of carving out a niche,
never settling for the easy cookie cutter microwave lifestyle
with all your bullets, you have died of dysentery
There was no grass where I was, over laid with concrete
tucked into steel and filth of a city well live and over populated
midnight workforce, keeping it so clean
while you sleep, hanging onto your everything with one hand.
Burned out hippies selling mushrooms on street corners
Appreciative with a no thank you, his life strapped to his back
Song and dance for your dinner, carrot bait and switch
carefully crafted prisons of internal processes
aroused by memories of talking dirty in my ear and
sopping fingertips, on late night walks
jacking off in stange rooms, relief from day job drama
self contained, hermetically sealed homsteds
we are built to survive, have we pushed the boundaries
buy building better people, were we ment to live like this?
I hope so.
Who’s leg do I have to hump to get a dink in this joint?
I have to fill this emptiness with something
One day loved for these mood swings and over active dedication
how much does the fairy tale happy ending cost?
a piggy bank of dreams needs to be reconstructed
smashed by my own hand, in the name of faith

Please reframe from writing on the bathroom stalls.
it might be creative and inspire others to communicate.
any questions, Google it…

(June 12, 2009)