shovels digging graves by themselves…
deaths without purpose, lives
without purpose….
the cash register rings,
someone else is evicted,
another factory shut down!
the stench of oppression
is almost unbearable….
fresh manured fields of lies,
pull the strings of the puppet,
make him dance….
(you cant see them,
cant touch them,
they’re insulated, shut off
from the sounds of hunger
and naked hearts beating!)
and down the street an old man
dies alone in a rundown house.
the shades are pulled, no one
notices… his old dog
guards the body, waiting….
while two young lovers make love
in the back of an old car…
two young gay men hand in hand
walking and talking….
two babies are born,
and two more die….
apocalypse, and good bourbon.

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