You can be murdered anywhere, but
you’ll always die in Congress or in Parliament.
From a lack of care or indifference
to what’s said and done by everyone expecting
salvation be a ladder to Paradise, until
the stairs to another life declining repair
prove they lead nowhere but upside down.
Change will come eventually you think,
forgetting the war ongoing in everything
where slaughter is observed religiously,
statistics carved in counterfeit
register complaint surreptitiously proud.
To serve the perverted ego’s lazy appetite
for the curve of constancy, no matter what
it takes to frame familiar certainty:
mistaken for the truth still boasting loudly
for release from the cage of incessant proof.
In our recalcitrant lives something despairs,
training us for extinction as the prize.
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