I live conflicted
between the life I'm gifted
and fault lines that have shifted
under my feet
for a dream delete
under the concrete
mob elite.

The grass isn't green and ****
I stand here beetle bit
I can't seem to sift
through the needless rifts
brought by greedy grifts
and seedy spit
on our supply side cliff.

I stand out of the range
of the morally deranged
which is how they arrange
my inability to effect change
which puts me down in the count
and down on the scoreboard
so I can't purchase a mount
to start moving forward.

I'm the disease and the antidote
I'm the hunter and the antelope
water rushing through the dam I broke
flooding the land of hope
with my brand of nope
down a tantrum *****.

There's a cynical patter in town
saying it doesn't matter if I drown
or if I burn
either way I suffocate
then put into the ground in turn
they just listen to sounds that churn
as the unbound learn
there are hounds on Earth
that scour the turf.

I sit on the sidelines
begging them to stop
but then I find I'm
cheering the beating of cops
after seeing their glocks
protecting nothing but stocks
when an uptick in mops
is what we should want.

I am the owl sitting in the tree
I am the fowl dead among the leaves
I watch the world turn from my grave
where I burn as a slave
just to return to my cave
to repeat this the next day.