Over and over again

the ongoing psychosis named reality

throws at us the vile complications of existence

like a rigged tax funded snowball war in which you are forced to enroll

when you are born among proletarians

and concrete orphans more twisted than Oliver Twist

like ghetto kids with knives and narcotic nights

men that walk the same sidewalk as you

the same asphalt dreams and latent ambitions

trapped in the same staircase of materia

causing the universe to circle reason

and stomp the ant man with work boots of international negligence

like something out of an Ingmar Bergman film

as the saints will prevail like the flickering candle in an artic snow lantern

battling it’s ice ceiling like flying intifada rocks in glass houses

while the chess game of psychoanalysis continues

like the sorrows of young Werther

in the blood of your martyred nightmares