Always those who claim to be awake
to the machinations which once claimed
their eyes, specious cretins
simply could not stand the chaotic mess
of their own unholiness finally found
a place each could settle in unafraid
temporarily until the new fashions kick in
describing perspectives sieved out of merde
and disguises for the rich to be bribed
who in former times only would require
the cold hard cash of a world by numbers
now designed by idiots to be so inclusive
everyone’s abandoned the prize
of singularity to assume the podium

Where worship plies its dirty diatribe as
the tools of media raise up
truth as the equivalent of gossip, being
famous equal to significance while minor
deities involved in the exclusive province
of the arts decide each must join
by committee the conversation they had
never started, the followers
of extinction erasing history, denying
who suffered to what degree by opinion, not
informed expansive and learned perspective
in a whirlwind self-made by cowards
each inauthentic each incipiently Stalin
on a merry-go-round ride yelling, I’m not blind

©Dean Baker

latest e-books $5.99, https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08YBJTJFP Shadow Boxing The Infinite

*****https://https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08YBDFWGB Phantoms Of The Northern Forests*****

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0917TF1K9 Steel Butterflies

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08ZJLWZ13 The New Poetry Hotel

©All Rights Reserved
deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com