among the empty houses
i sit upon their mental furniture
they won the war
for war
so we can have it all the time
it’s just another gathering
A social noose
this jacket and tie
judge and jury
the sweat and the tape
the give of the hollow hardwood
we’re round from all angles
we’re broken answers and crooked smiles
your latest
florescent
counter top
philosophy
like arithmetic
and other forgotten rituals
i see the future
processed, ironic and dead
you’re just one in a murder
swaying directionless in mid flight
i laugh and welcome myself to
the old western front
everyone’s got
their own barrel
to scrape
NB @ 11:02 AM
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