Having only some
understanding of your language
there is no clarity
Still don’t trust the message
Masks do not cover
there is no truth in your eyes
Can’t see your lips moving
yet we still know you lie
In some distant future
puzzling over skeletal remains
they won’t tell you from other
lower forms of life
No tears shed for your extinction
The clean white sands of distant beach
A coveted shoreline
bathed in optimism
The hope that anything could be better
Or the sterile blandness
that only institutional grade paint can capture
Antiseptic perfume masks
the urine soaked safety
of supervised narcotic therapy
Poisons more palatable to state sanction
No more white sands await
No stadium could contain your madness
Asylum like an ocean
and no water to drink
Graded on style points
vapors only form illusions
Hold no shape of their own
Rearrange the molecules
yet they still slip through your fingers
When all is hot gas
fill up your balloon
We’ll have a laugh when it bursts
You’ll be stripped bare
down to your pathetic denial
No more safe harbor
for your ship of fools
This pajama nation
fed on Slim Jims and fiction
Smart phones for weapons
they man digital foxholes
Style over substance
and strange advice
Phone calls with awkward silences
while instincts of institutional preservation
thunder mightily from the east
There is some subtle shading of difference
wide as the gulf
between realization and acceptance
Believing that no sparrow must fall
You are not essential
Salute the heroes
It’s all for them
or it’s for the children
Targets unassailable by design
I am Eric Cartman, hear me roar
Respect my authority!
We’re all in this together
We’ll get through this
These trying
These difficult
These challenging
These unprecedented
Times
When this bottle is empty
suck your thumb
Go back to sleep
When you wake
they will change your diapers too
In our angelhood
Spring emerged in light
from Winter’s sun waning
She came as a pale girl
dancing barefoot from the forest
into awakening meadows
A blank canvas blossoms in colors
Grows in light and life
then fades to a wraith in Summer’s cauldron
Now the axis has turned
the days grow longer
Still light and color elude us
She comes now as a grey matron
in her shawl hobbled and bent
Down to the river bank
where she will lay down to sleep
Calendar pages flutter in the wind
and time remains still
Perverted by language
Wittgenstein’s bane
Basis for human constructs
a pliable tool
to use for conflation
Distorting translation
Manipulation by inflation
The devaluation
of your currency and law
Inflation of panic more hot air
to inflate your own egos
