at the ULTIMA cLUB

WATching the 4D movie
of the

lOST iSLAND, Got bitten almost
by a snake

the plane crashes beside
an erupting volcano

meanwhile the aborigenes
keep on shooting with their spears

the woman beside me
screams

to this illusion as i keep
waiting when will this

unnecessary thing end
i want to go to the door and take

my escape from this
hallowed

commercialism, consumerism
and wastage of my

shattering humanity
my dripping soul absorbed

by the dry money paper
laundered in the group laughter

sun shine, all artificial man made
creations of the mind boggling

like a crayon doddle
fingers scratching for meaning

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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