Little Men

Dreary dystopia and despondent chance
        siege me from all sides;
Miniscule men with mammoth shoes
        stomp into my cube;
Demented dwarfs with duplex heads
        butt away my scrolls;
Lazy leeches with large mouths
        suck the life out of me;
Machiavellian maggots do a manic dance
        and eat the insides of my head;
Indignant inferno in incandescent rage
        come rescue me to cinders;
Fearless phoenix with felicity and grit
        rise gloriously from my ashes.

Yep!

Yep! Wipe that sweat off your forehead.
That is real real. The only real.

The road behind, a trail of flummoxed dust.
The road ahead, a mirage of unreal impossibilities.
And all around you, catch-me-if-you-cans of
all things dear to you,
Poof-poofs of brick, metal and flesh.

Yep! Wipe that sweat off your forehead.
That is real real. The only real.