a new century, same old idiots

they tell me

“it's the 21st century, man,

your ideas are outdated,

they're out of style”

as if time

washes the rot

off the human soul.

new century,

same mediocres

with cheaper ties

and emptier speeches.

they think having Wi-Fi

and inclusive words

makes them better

than the pigs of the past

with whips and robes.

yeah, I talk about old things,

like truth,

like guts,

like not kneeling

for a damn like.

they call me outdated

because I don’t give in,

because I don’t smile while the world

jerks off to a screen

and calls it “progress.”

the 21st century is just another

lousy excuse

not to think,

not to feel,

to keep saying

everything’s fine

while it burns.

and meanwhile,

I’m still scribbling on napkins

that smell like cheap beer,

while the modern ones

tweet their outrage

from a Starbucks.

they can shove their century

where the light don’t reach.

I’ll keep my old madness,

my torn books,

and the smoke of my thoughts

that don’t expire.