So who would like a tour next?
Walking through this new vortex
Where fake friends have more sex
and careers die from one porn-text.
Watching Dateline just outlines
with 20/20 vision a guideline
to get away with hate crimes,
while "Real" Housewives take nosedives
it's all blurred-mouth bleeps of absurd lies.
TV is a visual lump meat
Like we've hopped in the bait-car
Flabber-maddened over miserable Trump tweets
They should shake off
like dandruff from pant pleats,
but this texture is course--
The visceral chump beef.
I paint these deranged scenes to protect
a saint/God-like complex,
Because our human being style has defects--there is no honesty to detect.
I sit as stalemate research voyeur,
an accomplice to a mental murder,
no end in sight, except blood-fights,
that churn the guts
then turn screams to murmurs.
I force my wits to witness this
creative, yet incensed dethrone:
We've fallen from a heightened state
into a pit I can't condone.
Perhaps this is the narrative
I've told myself since we were kids
That, "Life is only worth to live
if you're the master of the world."
That any less is blasphemous,
to tend a garden (pacifist),
To turn a cheek, not pass a fist,
This ice shelf life is in mid-drift,
We'll multiply our activists!
Make selfless acts with selfie-sticks!
Let's break some bread, not heads and bones.
heart of stone.