Ode to Replicable Doom

by Matthew D. Rowe

Oh,

supposedly sleepy

coastal megalopolis,

 

I see right through your façade.

 

Several blocks of two story

concrete cages of

calculated spiritual digression.

 

First story,

overpriced, Socialite-infested

trattorias and delicatessens,

with none but lies and deceit

on the menu.

 

Second Story,

capitalistic, immoral

“Health & Wellness”,

dirty, sweaty, hot yoga studios,

with credit card transactions

seeping from every  self-prophecied

Buddha’s pore.

 

Corner nearest Pacific Ocean,

nearest purest health,

Self-Realization Fellowship.

Costless and empty,

patiently awaiting

civilization’s inevitable

collapse.

 

Acknowledging laughable actions

of misguided sheep.

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