Plebians
Gentry
Plebians
Slaves
And gentry?
Kapital.
A story
For the ages
Of enlightenment
At bedtime
It can’t be heard in darkness
It can’t be seen in peace
Enclosure farmers
Your ancestors, my fair, European scavengers
We’re victim to this system
Hundreds and hundreds of years
You all drink lattes
I smell the fat burn

We turn our eyes, grasping with our vision
For the horizon
For the edge
Of a sphere
And we’re lying now
Beside the twilight and the motion
Beside the sea
Beside our fear
We couldn’t fathom
What we should believe in
Reciprocal force, reciprocal affection
Just bodies, Just planets
Just planes
Of existence… in our closets
Under boxes
Beneath yearbooks
On your bed
Weathered autumn
Leaves approaching
In this, our youth’s Winter
Exposing brittle branches
Containing remnants of those lives
Easily extracted from the core
Of my eyes
Then swallowed in the high-tide
Of horizon
Bringing us the future
Of life’s Summer
Enlightened in the morning
Past our fears
As we stand here in mutual Spring time
Grasping vision, with our eyes, of the sphere

My high school ethics class taught me so much
For example, the fact it is completely fictional
Reminds me that I shouldn’t care
About the world we inhabit or our gaseous air
Why worry that we’re ****** every single resource?
Why worry about dying breeds of animals or melting polar caps?
Should we bother helping honey bees, or consider our affect on bats?
Would it be ok to take a person’s land then tell them what to grow?
When we took the land from natives, was it generous to tell them where to go?
Have you wondered why people living even now think it is ok to **** like Pol?
Or why some think we’re better off to be completely baffled by the genome?
When do embryos become humans, and what does that mean?
Is it ok to grind up cows in machines, or change their names to “Beef”?
Should we ignore terrorists sincere qualms?
Or refute their “strife” with nuclear bombs?
Are we making the planet a more peaceful place?
What a success my education has been!
Apparently school district officials were just challenging me
Because I would have found a purpose
If I knew there were so many chances for improvement
And I guess I should be thankful
That my dawdled years were not interrupted by concern
That one philosophy teacher might create
Because the way of life they placate
May just be in jeopardy
The day we learn that ignorance is greed

Benedictine Warlords
Hold ceremonies in ballrooms
Tie knots in dying children’s hair
Demarking havoc to succumb
Red X-es on trees
Placating these
Monsters
These scumbags
These treasons
Against a muck they scoured
A much maligned superfluity
Of words, of thoughts
Of feelings
Of devotion
Sympathy
What of it?
You’ve heard my ideas on living
You’ve killed my attempts
Superavero
Veni
Superavero
Now go, before you learn what life is

Words hissing through links of spine
Shake his skull’s base
Plunge into a pool of melancholy
So vacuous and contemptible
That’s been
Flooded by nihilism and avarice
Her dead notion gestating
Open case indefinitely
You chose this,
Sinking
In my shallow waters
Displacing fondness
Evaporating on the banks
In serotonin’s stolid drought
Crinkled blueprints for what might have been
Were trembling lips adverse to apathy
And chances had been taken

The world created for us is sick.
It’s decaying.
Wounds, with no scab forming
And we’re expected, without questioning
To live on in such a world
To allow such a world to exist
But it’s infuriating
And it torments the hearts of men
Tearing mother from child
Raising us on malevolence
Scurrying through the fields
Until the hunters carry us away
And every last vestige of shelter
Is plucked from the ground
Incinerated, burned in factories
To make cardboard boxes
That will be filled with promises
Of low cholesterol
For the masses
That glean over the details
Unaware that hope is lost
And that our species is dying
Hurriedly moving from one space
To another
Without realizing their fright
Without looking at the box
That they helped produce
By failing to protect
Their shelter
A world, ending

Run with this cauldron, ladle out soup
To the soldiers of our land
In the field of battle, lay out a cloth
And let them stretch their bloodied limbs as they eat
Their minds are weary, untrusting
Each spoonful less viscous than its predecessor
A succession of leaders repeated in their heads
Every dead soldier, a reason for abdication
The people hate the war they’ve started
The fools!
No matter how much soup I take to them
No matter how watery the broth
Each day they watch me leave the front
Each day I walk alone back to base
And munitions are airlifted daily