Drunk on koolaid.
Sputter of junkie cultural jargon —
a separate, unequal, reality
we cruelly choose.
Soggy comfort of misery.
Slobbery whines;
lobbing fouled barbs to amuse.
Cheap deteriorata,
failure explained:
Not mine! The way of the world.
Honor’s defeat: Define blame by direction
in which orator’s stones are hurled.
No formidable backers around
to track unclaimed blood let seep in sodden ground.
Life weeps pain.
Drunk in a pool of despair.
Soothed by belief, to sleep, unaware,
drowning in caustic rain.
Squirming for advantage,
eyes hooded, cold
Puritanical morays
itch to strike.
Vigilant sharp-toothed rage,
haunts murky water,
oozing, congealing Collective (subconscious) with hype.
Dissolute war, execution, outlandishly dangerous
invasions assured to be extremely rare last threat,
cynically, lazily, demanded first strike against
any designated enemy.
Lost in the part, in the dark,
like some 
horror cliché
Be of good cheer
Not that the morrow will
answer prayer for solution,
not that skies will soften.
Be that voice in your ear,
lilting and wise,
warm with contribution
of self-willed adventure.
Life’s never a promise —
only a choice, or
A new day dawning in the
drizzle and the pain
[These little moments
of presence, of meaning
when for a bit all is clear
That’s what we’re doing here.]
Another chance to revel in clean rain

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