Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Three


From the Surgeon-General, a dirge-end of derelict vocation--
"Expunge and impound the light of the sky, the sun.
A sponge of smoke to soak
the illumination dry, from the sun and its sky.
Smoke! And invoke, in general, as the surgeon says and elects,
a carcinogenic death that disintegrates our flesh
and frees our forms from falling, failing fates!"
--on every pack to date.


This poem is basically an ordinance from the Surgeon-General, telling everyone to smoke cigarettes so as to create a cloud of smoke and smog over the city, and so that they, in essence, will reach death faster. It's a message that's on every cigarette pack in the city, and much in contrast to the health warning of the cigarette packs of our own reality.

1 comment:

Gunter Heidrich said...

A pastime to die for.