in the end it’s all a matter of perspective

the output of blackened outlaws
is necessary
and viable
but so often
disengaged
with subsonic
and subversive symbiosis

stocked, shocked, and divided
the network news
brews
another narrative
to drive the herd
can’t you see what they’re doing?
it’s game show hell
as
false pigments paint a picture
of poisons
resting on the brows
of subtle men

passive aggressive, they are
malicious
marching malware
on the narrow path
to civilian voyeurism

disruption, evacuation
devastation
forget that, laugh with me
one more time

as I sit here picking my teeth
waiting for
lines to be drawn
and
ideas to spawn
with hopeful regeneration

for you see
secret gods dwell
in the hearts of mortal men
yearning to manifest
in peculiar ways

spirits shouldn’t speak
in such vulgar tones
yet they endorse a sense of
remorseful zealotry
tell me
what does it all mean?

in the distance
a black cat sits
perched quietly
waiting
for the next manifestation
of rEvolution