Creativity is the jetpack that allows you to soar above
the jejune pedestrians. Docile in their domiciles,
they rarely look up. So feel free to wave a hello
if they ever do but only stop in the event of an emergency.
The further you propel yourself then the more you might
veer further into a cultural no man’s land, where the drones
that dopily paid no mind to you like any other bird in the sky
have been devoured by the zombies of ignorance.
Find a pedestal, land atop and never get off
because the jackals down there want fresh flesh
and you’re all gushy softness. Hardened and pockmarked scum,
they want to suck the idyllic marrows of your brain bones, siphon
‘til the dryness is dry. Brittle and languid in anguish, squish
your eyelids together so tightly that they fuse and maybe they
won’t hoover the x-factor out of you. Your je ne sais quoi
becomes their foie gras, that certain something that they spread
on their white bread mundane.
Let them build their own means of conveyance, fly lower
and feel them drag you under. Dumb yourself down
for your bosses, your loved ones, your compatriots
and destroy what essentially makes, divines, creates
and drives you to heights inconceivable.
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