If I could teach one thing,
I’d show how regular States
Begat zombies and inspire necromancers
To re-animate cold apathy
And serve it to stewardesses like shots.
Our disco balls look like Death Stars,
Maybe those fallen from heights that
Spiraled down from giant City Council silos
Built on the backs of Slaves.
How does so much light seem dark?
Perhaps we’re willing to negotiate,
So we abnegate our innate capacities as Creators,
Accepting life as loveless.
Yet our compassion is strong as alarm bells ringing and waking cages
Breaking against hatred like glass meeting granite,
A bubble brushing eyelashes, bursting like a kiss.
Sometimes we touch volatile live wire
To still something vile within.
When “best” really isn’t good enough,
And “better” is butter spread thick to hide mold,
What we seek is not best, better, or worst,
But a thirst for a lyric unspoken,
Hearts unbroken, something more than a
Damn bus token
So we can really sink our teeth in.
