Institutions of sanctioned freedom are
Agonizingly oppressed by
Red, white & blue
Flashing lights, slick sharks, & mace,
Dark glasses & guns.
Black batons failing to beat back
Rising tides of human speech.
Alone they are watering cans.
Alone we are trashcan fires.
Sparks can ignite cities,
Sweet songs to lull to sleep
Rome dreaming of ashes.
Knights with vicious nightsticks march along thin & winding streets
Slipping & sliding down theme park slides of innocent blood,
Black uniformed battering ram of the rancid ruling rich.
Instruments. Dim thoughtless tools
Forged & fed fucking fat on fear,
Fear that feeds the flames.
The Corporation syringe is jammed
Deep into the jugular of the media monstrosity.
The state has its many razors
Pressed to the shaky wrists of the poor.
Smell the sick sweet fat starting to boil.
Hear the soft sound of sharp knives being drawn.
Static in the air starts to hit a fever pitch,
Waiting for a strike of flint to light the fuse, blow the bomb, ignite the charge
How many bodies will the bastards leave beneath their boots?
Bruised and broken, twisted, torn & endless corpses, endless corpses
Clogging the streets with genius addicts, hard-working suicides,
Inspired homeless alcoholics, illuminated, un-medicated schizophrenics.
How many before the stench of rot starts to seep through office windows
Across well kept lawns & high wage gardens?
How long until it settles like lead in our ugly, tarred hearts and lungs?
–Jack Blare, People & Concrete (2015)