Life works in crazy, fictive styles,
The moves fate makes in sheepish turns
Are seen as liberty for mindless,
Subjective, non-commital forms.
It spreads like plague in endless stances,
Clings tight and carries like disease
From man to man, it has no patience.
It’s allconsuming, he believes.
Horrendous and extorting knowledge
Holds onto spines and grabs so tight,
He pries them open, tiny caskets.
No winners are in hopeless fights.
With weapons blinding his opponents
And bodies coming down in sync,
Laments the captain over longing
He can’t receive, he can’t perceive.
The war, so endlessly engaging,
That money-laundering machine
Is going forward, crushing faces,
While corporations’ hands stay clean.
So fights the soldier, fights the captain,
Keeps writing eulogies in line.
If hope once leaves him, he’ll still face it.
All’s fine if he’s alone this time.