Poem: The din.

A poem by Caitlin Johnstone They’re designing park benchesso that homeless people can’t sleep on themand placing metal spikes beneath overpassesso they can’t be used as shelter. Jerry Seinfeld says Palestine doesn’t existand that sometimes socks go missing in the dryer,wocka wockaha ha hait’s funny because it’s a witty observationabout life’s everyday little goofy goofs. Fast food wrappers blow in the windlike the leaves used to do. Duct-taped gargoyles with garbage bag wingspeer down at the din of civilizationas we march over the sidewalk sleepersto our Jobs,stepping over dead bodieswhile staring at our phonesand counting the minutestil we can go home to our sofasand watch wocka wocka comediansand shovel SSRIs into our facesfrom large plastic bowlsso the crushing beauty of our worldand the knowledge of our mortalitydoesn’t topple us like Jenga blocksand make us weep like open fire hydrants. In this din they don’t want you to feel.They don’t want you to think.They don’t want you to…