Nowadays it’s business as unusual
At least it should be
Maybe it already is
Maybe it’s grown that way
Gradually
Until the last few years
Hyperrealities are seeded
(With fears of seed oils)
And sprout slowly
(Like day-old Twitter accounts)
But bloom at blinding speed
(Like a thread gone viral)
And converge like the leaves in the trees
(Like commenters in their herds)
Germination is addictive
(Like circle-jerking)
And a perfect opioid for the brain
(Likes and retweets)
You’ll think you’re growing too
(Fans and followers)
When you’re really growing weeds
(Rabid abstractions of who you want to be)
In that lonely abyssal garden
(Dopaminergic center of all)
There can be still trees of life
(Creativity peeking through the gaps)
But you might have to slash through the forest
(Thickets of thin desire)
Before you cross the meadow
(The Beauty in your heart)