room.

Sitting by the waiting line

while criminals are blindfolded

so as not to identify

who we are.

    

People are getting impatient.

Watching others through reluctant                             intercourses of cups of coffee.

Chemicals pumped in to keep us docile.

Uniformed attendants call the names

through constricted throats

some stand up

and others keep on pacing.

     

The criminals pass before us,

heads bent and wondering.

dead letters for living people

daily

The lunatics bang on the cellar door.

Their head traumas

are audible to everyone.

Grey post-human individuals

with automatic hook-up devices,

Feeding themselves super grown

metabolic mind teasers

that sedate cautionary nervous impulses,

while breaking open the disastrous attributes of free radicals.

Death squads are out in force

having little or no success

in keeping

our insane delusions at bay.

News reports tell us

little more than passing

anecdotes while the mob christens

a new disciple.

They were once angels

who wore prosthetic wings

until they too got taken away.

Now they carry themselves drunk, 

speaking in languages that are only understood by ancient people

that were executed

by anti-pagan sentiments

in the days prior to our own ascension.

The news clips pass with details of the coming Armageddon

in the guise of non-nuclear proliferation,

along with a number for tickets to the show.

dead letters for living people