Brick Tires, Poetry, if you can call it that. Options

[bat19]

Brick Tires

I want comedy through complexity.
I want to express knowledge.
I want to create that paralytic sense of
self-distraction that only comes from a good book.

I can imagine the story in my mind.
An empty building standing crooked on it's
foundation waiting patiently for the
day the men in orange caps come to kill it.

Maybe a rusted car without it's engine or any
valuable parts can rest uncomfortably on the
lawn as a community eye-sore.
Brick tires holding it's engine-less weight.

Or maybe there could be some modern art
spraypainted on the side in forest-green
and neon orange pigments.
Evidence there was once inhabitants here.

Littered newspapers from months before become new
hideouts for the multitudes of ants and beetles
we normal people fear for some peculiar reason.
Broken steps lead to a door of cracked, peeling paint.

Compared to the inside, the outside is a paradise.
Broken bottles and empty syringes stain the ground,
left from squatting addicts searching for an
escape from the pressures of suburban life.

Rotted dishes fill an abandoned sink like a mini waste
dump no soul would dare disturb. New forms of plant
life sprout from this cesspool of fungus that if
ever studied would prove to cure all sorts of disease.

This house is empty now, save for the many rodents and
insects who call it home. This place has seen death. It has seen
potential destroyed by the needle. It's history is lifted from the
study books to protect the unsuspecting children of the world.

I want to learn about this place. I want to embrace it's filth
and disguise it as treasure for the public. 6 weeks bestseller,
20 million copies worldwide. I want them to see what lies just
under the surface, and show them what real despair is.