The multiple terraces look down
On the mall’s mad scurrying.
Its myriad distractions
Circle an empty center–
All our entertainments divert
The eye from death. Seeking to swell
Barren souls into fatted selves, hard
Mediums succumb to the soft-
Headed. Unvisited, wares
Yellowed, the corner bookstore
Reads like an axiom of
History. What prospers is blood,
The spectacle, bread and circuses
In endless rotation. Drab
Lives demand nothing less. Poets
Tire of the trope; then observe
The comings and goings and know
No other words convey our
Degradation. These bright aisleways
Are a many-tiered Lethe where
Drinkers feign oblivion.
Not the dimmest awareness
Flickers in their minds: here, boot
In the face, are our Overmen.
Cody Simpson is a young poet from Southeast Missouri currently at work on his first book. His work has appeared in The Cape Rock.