City of Fear

and Loathing, Monsieur
Thompson might be right--
the American Dream dead
and dying on the footsteps
of Caesar's Palace, next to
the next monolithic resort
and spa, relax and spend--
you're buying emptiness.

Hey, listen up, you'll only
hear this once, the grandeur
and the parties aren't real,
but neither is the job you just
lost, neither is the penny in
the slots, neither are you if
you don't see that we are all
part of a game, a game played
with limousines and cocktails

and there's no hope in it. But
jesus, you'll go crazy if you don't
hope for anything, hope can
take the struggle and put it on its
head, if you can discern what
to hope for.

In any case, the streets are active
finally, mamacitas walking babies
into the night in their strollers,
b-ballers playing the court, players
playing the court but also the court-
room and the blackjack table, if you're
not careful you'll wind up there too.

Maybe hope isn't in an election, especially
this election season, maybe hope isn't
hanging out smoking blunts in their cars,
maybe hope isn't but it is too, and if the
paradox confuses you, don't even try

to understand what can't be is. It is and it's
sad that  two options present themselves--
poverty here or poverty there, hopelessness
here or hope there.

The dream lives but maybe dies and I need
to die before I die but I got two souls
here caught up in the tires
of nofuture allfuture and leaving might
not be in my hand. Shit, dealer,

reshuffle.