Twilight

The rain taps against the window and turns the street into a mirror that reflects the dull yellow haloes around the lights and the waiting parked cars

It only gets darker from here

And it's becoming clear the chance that morning reappears has all but disappeared

Sitting there silent behind the glass, fast asleep in the tv, unaware with a stare so vacant no light or thought can enter in or penetrate deep enough to set off a spark

Keep out the question marks; it's hard to eat comfortably in my seat if I think there's something beyond the street, because it's all about me

This is as deep as I go

Well, I hope

Although I wonder sometimes what's beyond the surface I know, the gaudy clothes and the shallow range from me to the remote...

But the volume's too low

Sell me my culture, part of the convergence of vultures feasting on sugar and air in a wasteland where everything has a thousand copies

My CDs are bright and shiny and satisfy me today; I play them on repeat in my SUV before they evaporate in the tray

It's the disposable world, curled around me and the short-sighted thoughts and wants in my vicinity; doesn't hurt me as far as I see, and being selfish never hurt nobody

So ride the circular logic down the slippery slope and see if where you end up justifies the pain and death you leave below; in your poem to power,, writing doublethink in your black ink, giggling while you scribble out the margins

You've got a sword to back up the pen and a backup plan to evade the charges

Now monopoly's played on a slope, so it funnels back over to the guy with the right start; compounds free of any counterweight check because compassion doesn't show on a cheque or an org chart

It's just inertia: make a system out of pushing people down, plundering resources and forcing compliance and dependence on whatever you dictate, with few other choices

Got the oversight underneath

Keep the pile covered until it reeks

When it leaks, counteract it with a P.R.Opaganda sweep to keep the lead buried deep beneath the empty news on page A19

Add to the strategy by convincing governing suits that it's alright with a bribe

On your side, you've got another line stacking up high as defence from the beasts shivering outside

Keep them occupied, so they can't rise unsatisfied and try to get across the divide; flood their eyes with fantasy so their bottlenecked minds won't let reality inside

Luckily I'm on the winning side, otherwise I'd be standing on the other side of genocide. He replies, "Right. God hates a brown face; they waste space, I have faith He wants them all sent to die

Don't think of it in terms of human rights, it's just efficient promotion of our ideal ideology

We just need a toehold

The painting's horrible, but it's framed really well, and that's all you need."

So the seed of distortion grows and blocks the sun, untruth and euphemism cloak a system of violence and keep it out of sight, out of reach from the apathetic masses with their glasses off, sectioned off in living rooms watching silence

Well I've found God and He's me; I'm a theocracy

And I ride in my chariot to worship at Mecca, the mall

Our wallets open and close and sing praises and prayers that rise overtop of the tallest screen

The halls are preened with pastel colors, silver, and light, that brighten the faces of other gods whose vehicles bow subservient outside

The truth lies if it's not viewed from my paradigm, climbing the mile-high pile of first prize circled by flies, ignoring the chorus of futile cries

I'd rather not err on the side of humanity, I'd rather call you my enemy than accede

I'd rather empty round after round into my feet and then aim for the knees

Please don't bother me, greed's not a deed that concerns me because Newton was wrong all along, and my actions don't have consequences: I'm walking on air, and I'm punching a wall

So I'll call the cup full and swallow the air that I'm rationed of fashion and passionless play and pray in a box, locked in my seat so my eyes never stray from the game, the same as every other day: ignoring the bleeding, uncaring and carefully keeping unknowing and occupied

The cycle of greed feeding apathy, apathy feeding the hunger for power, a flower that blooms in the distance as viewed from the calcium tower that showers the land with a white light, looming close like a third strike breaking through the windows at midnight