INAUTHENTIC
Vacuous tenacity, of the sort which
travels through cities - the men off the
streetcar, swept aside from some
antediluvial fall of a rank proportion;
the girl singing her simple pop song,
walking along, knowing each word in
the spin of her lucky web - encasing
her in a simple tune of glitter. Its own
dead-end beckons. Neither her own tune
nor her own words does she recite. Only
those of someone else, with nothing
authentic left. Well than, if that's the case,
what does anything else matter?
Vacuous tenacity, of the sort which
travels through cities - the men off the
streetcar, swept aside from some
antediluvial fall of a rank proportion;
the girl singing her simple pop song,
walking along, knowing each word in
the spin of her lucky web - encasing
her in a simple tune of glitter. Its own
dead-end beckons. Neither her own tune
nor her own words does she recite. Only
those of someone else, with nothing
authentic left. Well than, if that's the case,
what does anything else matter?
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