What is Done
in the smarm-festered upper floors,
servants with big smiles
coil around a tonsilitis of money,
which insures their lack of voice
and bloodless replica of care.
elsewhere, across the world,
a child is punished
for the joy of their giggle,
and put to work in a field:
a furrow where hope, good, wonder and dream
can’t endure, pretend, believe or escape.
in the latest movie, all the rave,
a druid enspells with rowan
to tame the cruel of an evil prince,
who gleams serpent-toothed of skin;
and yet
there is no tender conscience of sidekick
to abate the world's de facto kings, who proclaim
off-with-their-heads.
what is this endless thirst for lies,
gulped down through the intestines of skyscrapers
and compartmentalized cubicles?
what if this mandate to hide from what is done
is itself an anchor that pulls neckties to drown?
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3/17 ... fixed misspelled words
2/18/24 ... mods for clarity and flow
It's men (kings) not women (queens) who have led humanity to the brink of doom
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