The praxis of popularity

Were I a smart man I’d go tolerably dumb, and quick.
Not this day by day subtraction. I’d seek distraction
in accounting the dollars I traded my cells for or
petting my children on their heads I’ve emptied.
What persuasions I know nothing of I’d foster if I
sat in the middle of the road some lofty number in line?
Petting my children on their heads I’ve advised that
the best methodology is the one most populated, obviously.
I would never study Bucky, never Huxley. I’d study astrology.
My joy of joys it’d be owning my very own ineloquent psyche.
Were I a smart man my rapture would grow like grass to pluck
and I bet as bitter, somewhat. Were I a smart man I’d succumb
groaning like the rest of my withered species to utilities of dumb.

– – – – –

I am told my father is illiterate when it comes to English, wherever he is and has been. I base this piece off the likes of him, not the actual average citizen who has more skills and talents than they’ll ever have the opportunity to use in one lifetime.

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~ by Jeremy on April 27, 2012.

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