what’s in a dead heart?

time clocks and tenuous tongues
it’s too early to call it a day
and too late to remember the sun
with betrayal and obedience to the mystery
the halls are filled with mediocrity
as the poor are paraded
down distant television avenues
of unsettling compromise

gripped and conditioned
to be broken by informants
of false tribal wars
we sing of loneliness
and righteousness
as hard hands
with gold rings
slide across soft broken letters
and the gods laugh
while playing their tired games

communication passed us by
all this anticipation
nowhere to go
no time left
no time
to reinvent
our past glories
what will become of this dying dream?



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