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 calendar progresses
as the sun grows long
There remains the sense
that these days are wrong
White and fuchsia blossoms
burst forth into light
The lawn grows apace
yet something’s not right
The sun has been sparing
cloud and rain more the rule
Invisible winter that reaches
like some dreaded ghoul
This grey pallor that creeps
between each ray of light
sucks the life from our waking
by some phantom fright
Using statistical models
these tyrants masquerade
as some kind of saviors
to support their charade
We can see through you
there is no mistake
the more that we give you
the more you will take
We don’t fear this virus
and this much is true
Only one menace we face
and clearly it’s you
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
