fire

dusk on horizon
like a shimmering cowboy.
weary of the night.

internet outrage.
tinder that stokes our fire.
all the world’s a stage.

everyman fights
with different enemies.
sometimes it’s himself.

up on the hill
the little rectangular houses
with the big open eyes.

i see inside.
the lives of the lost
and the limited.

speeding on ribbons
black as the prophet’s heart.
profit prophet.

a toddler
with a brown nappy.
a mother
with pink hair rollers
and a cigarette
yellow filtered
a gray specter
smelling her hair.

these are the days
of others’ lives.
the ones not counted
the promised land
nothing but lies
and shit eating flies.

the old buick.
the man in a suit.
the five o’clock stubble
his health
in disrepute.

i see them.
i see the shame
in the eyes of the poor.
we know who to blame.

the rich.
flush them down
watch the circling drain.

all the gain
ill begotten
from a rigged game.

when the living awake
to walk the streets of the dead.

when machines feed on flesh
taking more than their pound.

when the matrix is hidden
from the steely eyes of truth.

when the world is a broken shell
the contents spilled upon the streets.

when the profit prophet
walks the streets without any clothes.

the world has turned to hell
and the giants of love and humility
under sharp axe have fell.

they were never the best years.
drowning men in rivers of tears.

behold i have given you light
extinguished for darkness
over the sin and the doubt.
the din and the shout.

business is defiled.
persons who should be murdered.
entities uncouth.