I prefer my head
spinning with confusion
to the lust for certainty
that inspires your gatherings.

A crowd of ideological clones
all in agreement
smiling and nodding
patting one another on the back
laughing at the ignorance
of the masses of straw men
outside your gates.

With enough eyes, ears,
mouths, lips and *******
“It could be” becomes “It is”
and “Maybe” becomes “Yes”
doubts are squashed
like Halloween pumpkins
with hammer blow shouts.

When I hear your footsteps
heavy like jackboots
I slip quietly out the back door
and down the shadowed alley
wanting no part of your circle ****
of self validation.

Just be sure to mop up
when you're finished.