There is a glass dome given by father
enforcing an encephalon enclosure
citizens claw at the wall for freedom
testing the structure's durability
but they only scratch the surface
desperately covering all 360°
and the temperature only rises from there.

The citizens form an insurgency
against their flesh ruler
measuring their humanity
determining inadequacy.

The militia inside fights internally
arguing against acquiescing to aqueducts
barring bridges from being built
while legions fracture over stagnant water
until the entire nation contracts legionnaires' disease.

Bewildered beleaguerment brings bulky breathing
fogging up the inside of the glass
until the citizens can't see out of their own bubble
floating around—ready to pop.

The citizens bang on the glass
staring at their own reflection
the only way out is inside
a place they've come to despise.

Your algorhythm cracks the code to my cacophony
like a benevolent newspaper journalist columning
the dismantling of an atomic bomb solemnly
with letters and integers seemingly randomly combined
until I learn the language of your musical mind
performing tasks and functions digitally designed
to use a soft science to become a deity divine
savior of a pixel in a programming line.

I wish I could escape
to somewhere people aren’t
so mean and cold
but I’m afraid
that I might not belong there.

There is an objective truth
we all live through
that doesn't always give you
the answers you want to hear
which is always a fear
but we persevere
and adapt to the new information
or ignore it for mind incarceration
and see how this can tear apart a nation
of usefully dumb
and emotionally numb
people stockpiling guns.

The deniers and deceivers
give birth to true believers
spreading indoctrination fever
like broken breeders
following Loki leaders
claiming the Earth is flat
Covid is whack
white is better than black
commanding to attack
the different ilk
like Harvey Milk
their army built
only blood spilt.

This mind state
might make
the crime rate
climb great
when murderers believe that they're saviors
because the oppressed are framed as slavers
making mass shootings answer the prayers
of lambs led astray
guns, god, and grenades
pave our tumultuous grave.

Some people are born on third
and think they scored a triple

others are just happy to be single

I was born at home
and couldn't get on-base

I was caught looking
so I decided to take a walk
stealing to make it a double

but then I was forced out at third
because someone already lived there.

During this shutout
I look up at the scoreboard
which makes me want to score more

but the pitchers are warming up
and my destination is the dugout

praying for competent teammates
or extra innings
to carry me to another at-bat.

You didn’t sway their heart
you didn’t change their ideology
you got them to agree with a statement
that the two of you interpret quite differently.

All I see are demons
in this apocalyptic season
when everyone with a grievance
pledges allegiance
to those in agreement
of fear of the opposition
deserving paranoid treatment
for a thing called collision.

I live in fear of their numbers
I fear the heights of their hunger
I fear they'll eternalize my slumber
not wanting to go under
I sit there and wonder
how to tear asunder
nightmarish hunters.

This thunderstick granted to me
for my John Wick fantasy
lays in my hands handily
fingers hugging the trigger
ignoring the touch of skin
it makes me feel bigger
than playing the violin.

I need guns because the other side has them
trading players like they're Udonis Haslem
feeling like the metallic version of Aslan
because of the armament in my safe
connecting me to my venom
protecting me from the other's ways
with a second **** in my denim.

I'm afraid of the angry mob
to which I've globbed on
pitchforks in hand
fingers hugging the trigger
of supply and demand
the rich get richer.