The demise of the Internet has already started.
Scrubbing, slowing, watching, editing.
Lying, exploding. we are duped and distracted
as they grab the shrinking baby and head to the bathtub
I wish that I could write like Elliot
the secrets of the mundane
or like Cohen
or David
or sing a song like Solomon
to unfurl in beauty and rapture
of tears in the face of the harmony
Harmony intended of Creation
but I - as all others- am shattered and torn
in the face of the great divide.
The division in my cerebral function to bridge it
up from the heart it rises to heal and is blocked at the throat
in suppression of the truth.
the Threat We can't let ourselves free of our training
The collar has a charge. and a weight and a toxicity that
clamps down our tears
We have to defend our existence in the face of the scarred
We dance for our masters
the scratch in the annals of history
the line repeats itself
fragments of the lie
virus to our soul
