News soaked by the rain
on the pavement.
They board up the doors
to contain it.
All the boredom and forced
repetition electrocuting the air
in a way that only numbs
and locks in place.
Walking the streets with the
longest knives we could find.
Acting out the repressed
rage of several decades
swimming in fake peace.
They are proud to keep on
clapping while the fires burn.
You are what you can do to earn,
and the prospects are like four leaf
clovers in the dark.
There is no argument that’s sharp
enough to cut the head off.
Why take the chance when you can
drink some neon colored juice.
Just turn the music on and slowly
sink into your noose.
Teleporting Typewriter 