The backlot of a dense money maker,
has been seen to be a sham.
A complete and utter sham.
I think we all knew behind the dead eyes,
they made us all believe in their lies.
Lies beneath, so below—it’s no wonder
it took us this long to find its load of senselessness.
They give you a treat for giving a nod to anything and everything,
not to question its unsteady foundation,
or its loaded rooms full of ants following the guidebook—
and that guidebook is old.
One could say, one too many wrinkles.
From one’s shaping onto younglings,
to elders who’ve gone around the gauntlet themselves.
Don’t say it gives me a future,
when my future starts at the same time and place,
as those fortunate, not to have their ears bit off
by a previous ant.
I’ll call an ant out when I know it’s the right time.
But for now, I need to stay one and get mine.