prey or paradise?

Ostriches don't actually bury their heads in the sand,
But that won't stop the only kids what hold the conch.
Did you know soldiers used to throw babies in the air,
And catch them on bayonets?
Why should anything be easy to understand?
I saw a kid coming down off a sedative-high ask:
"Is this real life?"
I'm to the point where reality doesn't mean anything to me:
Reality is full of myths, idiots with megaphones,
Babies impaled and mothers ravished, or discarded,
Children merely born to go through the motions,
Palimpsests scribbled on (an eternally deep griffonage),
Every human memory a smeared exposure of light
Draped on an empty inanimateness that will outlive us all,
Every poet laureate descended from a fucking monkey,
at a typewriter;
Escapism is much more my style.