Honey, Don't It Look Like Rain

To the solid earth my body's bade,
All in due time, not right now, I'm afraid.
I'm still all wrapped up in this
Commercialistic, greedy world.
It tastes of salt and then
It's under your skin shifting visions
Into confusion again and again.
Really it's a bit of dancing,
Staged by players wrapped in feathers
Of incredulity whilst the asshole
In the corner
Of the ballroom
Recites some modern prose he wrote,
Boasting about using the word "whilst."
It's a crying shame, really,
That six feet deep seems a very nice sleep,
Though I know better than to prompt the offer.
Until it comes, I keep waking up,
To Life as a constant, painful, monotonous joke
Reminding me of the reason for laughter.