this briny, viscous porridge of people
flooding the airwaves and brainwaves
with visions of destruction, death, violence.
always finding a way to infect us,
slurry their ideals down our yearning maw,
making us a cult, a circus, a frothy mob.
there’s no release. no mute button.
it’s dripping down from on high,
until even the worms are suckling tainted meat.
where’s the peak? are we just going to
gorge ourselves on this dreck until
our sorrows shut down our organs?
bombs for peace, they’ll tell us,
as we sip our morning latte.
bombs for justice, they’ll feed us,
as the revolution’s stifled.
bombs for the future, they’ll coo,
as the world’s snuffed out.
but we know the truth, don’t we?
no justice.
no peace.
no future.
just black.
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