obsessed with security and place
lock-stepped shuffle of obeisance
counting corners, counting on
science and leaders of order
counting on gospel served cold,
filleted, and layered just so.
Fashionably secured, tied and
corseted, made up for easy recognition.
"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! Buy me
the pretty fire." So mesmerizing, so
certain to tell me who I am, how to be.
Casting savage spells, they are,
far and wide, telecommunication.
Tying up and tidying with vast
imaginary whips and wheels,
spinning like a Pied Piper's tales.
We get it wrong and twisted.
Throwing out the wheat to eat
the chaff. Poisoning the well
that no enemy may drink our bounty.
Burning our bridges and tunnels
to save them.
Embarrassment of riches.
Gorging on fine cakes and
sugar water champagne.
Eerie daylight marching
timed by mechanistic masters
armed with decisions directing
torture and salvation.
Power derived from the people
constrained of memory
mistaking some paranoid parody
for a promise of life.
(c) October 12, 2007 Laurie Corzett/libramoon