Stuck in Your Own Complicity, by James D. Casey IV

I am not a silent poet

cold coffee and a wet
cigarette
there’s nothing like
the feeling
of regret
lying to the faultline
counting change
chained
to a man
plated in fake gold
crawling
through the night
legs trembling in
fright
but look at the way
he shines
drunk
on wine
in time
in tune
with the songs
on the radio
when tell-a-vision
is in short provision
after division
of your fellow
humans
in this Truman
show circus
on purpose
they hurt us
but you choose
to look away
tell me how it all ends
or how
you can
defend the men
dropping bombs
like they cost pennies
but can’t pay
for people to have
free education
while they take their
fancy vacations and sip
cocktails with pinky rings
in the air
and put their cocks
where it doesn’t belong
and don’t stop
when women say
stop
pieces of less than
shit
shit is better
but…

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