Locked out of last-ditch paradise,
the brazen young fanmailers loiter
dumbstruck at the gates, percolating.
Okay then, a sunbathing we will go,
glistening in our rudeness. True to form,
we work our senses into a lather.
Gather ye saints and whippersnappers
in this sacred space, let the good news
rinse away all shame and bad vibes.
The elder tribes have had their say,
but it’s we who pave their final way.
Post-irony is here to stay, after all.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 