In the Kingdom of Invisible Threats
sly anxious heads
scramble in official indecency,
trapped and rough
under a suffice of polite surfaces.
such neat, preened miens,
postured to abjure any garland of greed;
as if the world turned on a daily smile,
and gutting the future was rational.
when not asked, they say,
yes yes yes,
a freudian slip,
obeisance automatic
if the taste is intense.
lies mean nothing
if pretended not to be had
by those who inflict.
better to toe-kiss the haves
than the cesspool of the horde,
peckpeckpeckpeckpeckpeckpeck
on the keys,
lock that rare honest thought
in a prison of bland cruel,
far beneath you.
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