Munch’s insanely recognisable “Scream”
Agonised figure in a nightmare dream
Nowhere to hide, nature is boiling inside
Tongues of fire and blood in hideous flood
Garish colour slices this emotional crisis
Stretched beyond reason, I am mad, I am bad
Whom in Metropolis “Howl” at the moon
Who are these outcasts, so tragically hewn
Ginsberg’s vision of contemporary derision
His tumbling guile and hallucinatory style
As the salivating Moloch slowly takes stock
Quaking, here I stand, at home in Rockland
We’re martyrs to complex cobwebs we weave
Pain junkies hooked, as we proactively conceive
Technological jargon, confusion, no pardon
Balancing on a fence of built in obsolescence
We are Business Planned into no-man’s land
Frustration peaks, hark, the corporate “Screech”
Makes me think that ...
How often have we uttered and heard the corporate screech where screams and howls are locked in the impenetrable membranes straight jacketing you into business plans that are taking to you where the puck was, let alone where it is or where it will be (to paraphrase Wayne Gretzky and Steve Jobs)?
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