You know them. Those twisted facese you pass
in jeering wonder. Speckless shoes that step
over the ugliness with the grace of a gazelle,
ignorant to the trash that floats freely.
"Everything is okay," you might say,
but you have to keep your head up high,
you chin reaching to the sky
evading the lie of this swinish reality.
Wading through the garbage, a life spent in
such a curious denial
of this rancid year
of our lord.
Something slides along the pavement outside.
Wailing and blaring, up and down the street,
probably in response to some heinous crime.
Response unit useless
caller, niner STOP
Too much blood STOP
"Personally, sir, I think that in this world,
the only crime–the only real crime–is the crime
of getting caught, over..."FULL STOP