Bogus Fresh Poets Collective

“What can I say
I wouldn’t be here today
If the old school
Hadn’t paved the way”
Tupac Shakur 1994 “Old School”

the oil as usual crew
of special interests
blue blood bankers and
legislative mercenaries
has paved this road
ever more traveled
desperately by many
obliviously by others and
luxuriously by the few
the chosen ones
of the lord almighty dollar
the road is driven
yet existence
does not even imply
much less presage
desirable destination

navigating through
mean and ambivalent streets
folks feel potholes in the game
lined with injustice
these side streets never even had
the illusion of being safe
no one finds solace
in a shortcut
to a dead-end destiny

accustomed to auto-pilot
and quick turns in the conversation
i hesitate to broach the subject
might we stop and reassess our position
if not ask for directions
after all we’re headed
for a global economic collision
when fossil fuel demand permanently
overtakes and surpasses supply
might there be a different route
perhaps a better way
to be

numbed to movement
we barrel along wistfully
tank half full
full throttle
in a haze of wistful wishful thoughts
about places to see
and consumers to be
ignoring all the signs
indicating
we are headed the wrong way
on not-a-through street

are we but crash test dummies
mimicking sentient beings
about to hit the wall
failing an evolutionary experiment
in consciousness and wisdom
will we brace for impact
and watch wasteful lives
flash before our eyes
or will we relax
our adherence to
the script proselytized
by the corporate oligarchy
and oil-a-garchies
and change our course early enough
to prevent our children and collective future from
becoming collateral road-kill

rest restlessly
yet assured
I am no relation to chicken little
nor am I known to cry wolf

these bitter streets
are paved with subsides
federal funnels of funds
for imperial oil odysseys
the american way
of living dangerously
and mono-thoughtfully
is it not our american way
to do just about anything
in a car
talk eat drink smoke
sex in the backseat
apply makeup squinting in mini mirrors
we eat and bank at drive thrus
we discarded drive-ins
for personal screens
displaying tv and dvds
en route
our sound systems
shake neighborhoods
essentially
our lives revolve around tires

yet cars are just a fraction
of our failings
the amount of energy
consumed by our fossil indulgence
is hardly imaginable
as much as if
each american has twenty slaves
working night and day
to power their lives
sounds familiar

beyond the mirage
advocated by science on the take
prophesized by macroeconomic optimists
imagined by free market evangelists
and projected by media manipulating oligopolies
beyond this complacent and compliant
illusory way of being
only prescient eyes foresee
a collision
on the horizon
only courageous minds
entertain the possibilities

this just in
from our correspondents
in courage
the pragmatists and the realists agree
the oil jones is worse
than cold turkey
at a vegan thanksgiving

do folks realize
this fossil fuel subsidy
is half empty
the peak is nigh
admire the view
as we are not long for this summit
things are about to be a changing
and its all down
the bell curve from here

how can I explain this

mr oil and gas
is approaching
a mid life crisis
from which
he will never recover
though he may discover
some years are better than others
in any case
he will ultimately retire
and do no more work

or
mr gas and ms oil
are getting somewhat exhausted
being the life of our party
seeing that is almost midnight
their energy is waning
rest assured you will not wake up
next to them in the morning

metaphors aside
we are strung out on fossil fuels
and when production wanes
you may find yourself
unable to afford your commute
and you may find yourself
far from public transportation
and without access to local goods
and you may find yourself
rationing food and fresh water
and you may ask yourself
how do I work this
this is not my lovely life
how did I get here
remember me