Collectors (poem)

From the electrodes in your mind,

to what’s before your lonely eyes.

You’ve filled yourself with clutter,

from one dark wall to another.

 The mood will choose the color

or you’ll base it on the dollar.

Your dark cold room is full of empty,

and a page that’s screaming “LIKE” me.

For the more that you display

the more fake obsessions you will claim.

Secured and embraced by a growing display of heads.

You’re bourgeois, proud of plates and who’s laying in your bed.

What really matters most is the amount that you collect.

Cause you’re high on the sensation that to own is to connect.

Digital or physical, the true sentiment is shown.

Via pixels or carbon, you’re afraid to be alone.

So continue the collecting and wearing your disguise.

Collect with me on the outside…

to avoid the empty inside.



    1. We’re ALL comforted by our things Johnny. Physically speaking, it’s almost like stuffing a pillow. A pillow appears to get fluffier. Wendell Barry once said, “Don’t own so much clutter that you will be relieved to see your house catch fire.” I think he was on to something. Thank you Johnny! – E

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