Attrition

we ride the great curve     with our suicide pants     bunched around our ankles     and our arses hanging in the wind     we long ago abandoned     any pretence of modesty     and our protestations of innocence     sound ironic given our circumstances     the generation of conspicuous consumption      have full bellies    and empty aspirations     all we seek in the theatre of distraction     is the instant gratification of minor vices     and the reassurance that we are still good people    despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary