Shock Art

O Captain! My Captain! Our simulacrum sails apace, A vessel wrought of plastic dreams, its gilded, shining face. Upon this craft, both feast and dread are woven in a spell, A floating screen of specters vast, where truths and fictions dwell. Yet forward now to Scythian shores, those empires veiled in flame, Thou art the clown-philosopher, who laughs and plays the game.

O Captain! My Captain! Thy helm a symbol grand, An icon steering voids of sense, through seas of shifting sand. While screens alight with joyous gleam, the deck a theater wide, Reality recedes beneath the spectacle’s cruel tide. Thy ship, a palace made of signs, its cannons cloaked in glee, Doth sail toward the Scythian dusk, through hyperreal debris.

O Captain! My Captain! The children clap and cheer, While Disney’s magic paints the deck with mirth to mask their fear. The fryers hum, the mascots sing, a carnival afloat, Yet hidden 'neath, the cannons gleam, with steel-laden throat. A ship that bears both dreams and death, a theater of disguise, As thou dost steer thy aircraft dread 'neath candy-colored skies.

O Captain! My Captain! Thy course is fraught with woe, For in this voyage’s dazzling wake, no truth or meaning grow. The arches high, the banners bright, a carnival of lore, Mask the stark machine beneath, that churns toward endless war. Yet in thy painted eyes I see, the truth thou canst not feign, For thou dost bear, with merry mask, a world of hidden pain. I as