a box with words
the sharp edges of jargon
valiantly smite the
irrelevance of contradiction
with each phrase
each participle
that dangles from the
ballpoint before splashing
onto my page,
i interlope the freedom
of the unjust only to find
justice
muffled under the gag order of
judgement
we live in an irrational world
where denizens of devilry
pry their way into my thoughts
with fanciful promises of freedom
what freedom?
the angst that allows me to
pitch away my triumps at the five
and dime hoping for a dream?
or the belicosity that enables a war
machine to roam the desert freely
in search of foreign prey?
what else should i scaple onto the page?
promises of romantic certainty that
always seems to escape the
reality of we?
Us becoming beleagured
the heavy pressures of sovereignty...
a farce that does not make its way beyond the beaches....
where do i stand
is this place some sort of mystical
wonderland
where the fantasy's
of citizen ship
are only designed to lure
the would be traveler into
some trap
perhaps
the truth lies squarely behind the gestures
killing me softly before
gestation
a nation that has somehow
lost its head
seems we're fed from
a chipped spoon
the lot of us bafoons
and i'm getting tired of pretendin'
too busy focused on saving face
our saving grace begining to
have a funny taste to it
beleagured like a
battleship
caught in a crossfire
our squadron suffering friendly fire
and we can't see
blame the fog
I can't pretend not to see
that we are a fragmented
and vulnerable
got to be careful of associations
closed communications can
be the death of us
never know what folk be discussin'
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