Un-fucking Titled!

Un-fucking Titled!
(aka The Warzone)
By Brian Looney.

The profoundest men
Hurtle proxy bombs
Thru superstition's lofty windows.

Which magnetize
And sit seeking in laughing anticipation
For unwary combatants.

Impervious to time
They are eternal in construction
Armed, they await.

They do not wait for you
At your job.

They do not wait for you
At your church.

They do not wait for you
In your prayers.

They do not wait for you
At your shopping centers.

They do not wait for you
On your TV sofa.

Indeed, you are quite safe in the realm of systematic dependence
For they do not wait for you there.

But the lonesome mines do wait for you
In the realm of bone-crushing independence.

They do wait for you
In your pipe.

They do wait for you
In your beer.

They do wait for you
In your profanity.

They do wait for you
In banned books

They do wait for you
In many undiscovered places.

So step lightly, fellow man
Revelation waits around the corner.

Look lively, fellow man
Melodic responsibility knocks.

Why just the other day
I took a wrong-right step
I was struck down by the ineffable force.
Spirit & Mind sheared by enflamed truth-shrapnel.

Blinding light illumined my intellect.
As I lay in pieces.
Charged
By radioactive self-perpetuation.

Do you pine for this, fellow man?
Emerge then,
Dripping wet but drying fast,
From the rotting sea of advertisements.

Scoff at society's Warning! signs...
Tear through its barbed wire...
Patriotically urinate on its Flag...
Brush by its weeping mothers...
Climb the unbeaten hill...

And enter the warzone.