a telescopic
class war in America exemplifies the lies of who lives, who dies
meeting
the bore price of the Maya
our
souls hole straight through
all
the inventions of time as chains
we
watch the dead light of stars
pin
prick our eyes at night
while
calmly clamoring
for
more things
for
more might
we
store hope
in
a shadowy boxed life
sustained
or gained
or
burrowed into little thoughts
and
transportation costs
day
planner newspapers
map
electricity
with
wrought guidance wombs
everything
is boiled
into
bureaucracy
a
pulp office therapy
of
knees and palms down
open
mouths and words
meant
to ease the pain
of
attaining material wealth
we
service the world
here,
in America
with
an institutional lack
of
responsibility toward
the
physical aggression
and
behavioral modifications
meant
to lessen the emotional burden
of
bullets over ballots
because
we’re aiming the pistols
in
the odd warm weather
this
December inches closer
to
every chicken little
philosophy
of end times
sold
like pet rocks once were
these
must have trinkets
sell
nothing that fills us
they
tell us nothing
but
who to point at
what
targeted stars
are
wishing on us
to
be an empty vessel again
searching
for a meaning
beyond
security and tall fences
EJR
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