The million-folded tyrannies
Of forever damaged families–
Youth soiled and casually twisted
In the flicker of this mordial dark,
Drinking tear fed memories
Of stolen dreams and borrowed themes,
Quick cut from a television life–
A punch line, no joke, a lie, a kiss,
Lost trust, now murder, and revenge—again.
All re-torn fabric that will not be re-sewn,
Nor helped by the documented kindness
Of our paper-built bureaucracies.
They mean well, we all do, want the best
We can, and spend as little as we might
To get by, to get–what is it we want again?
While generous with our time and money—
Just not now, later. I’ll call. Why me?
We buy heaven on a stick and lick,
Voting for promises and believing lies—
Not what you said it was I…
