I am, You are.

I am – distressed

by people whose ideas are born from beyond the mess of intoxication.

Their histories, lined with memory grease

allow regrets to slip by, no longer grasping onto conscience;

a white glare, pasted on past and future, disposes details,

allowing only blurred and shadowy access.

I am – repressed

because people make champions of oppressors

and praise breast-beating triumphalists as free of defects.

I am – oppressed

for it feels we are governed by agents whose mouths are full of marvels

yet whose acts are as slippery as a sorcerer.

I am unimpressed

by political scavengers who feast

hyena-like, preying on people half dead, easily discomposed into

believing each one has a different taste.

I am – aghast

that so many folk are whelp-like, toothless,
powerless to explore beyond a dominion
defined by the leash secured around their necks.

They are loath to snarl or bite the dog-walker,
so off they toddle to treats and whistles carefully coralled into the kennel he selects.

I am – at my saddest

because the well of sympathy seems caked with soot-soaked promises

and the spirit of these times is signified by the seduction of siren songs.

I am – nescient;

unable to discern if those all around are dissimulators,

after all, I am aware my nourishment is the milk from their breasts.

I am – depressed

stifled and suppressed,

unable to harvest perspicacity from the fascist.

I am – suspicious

of the man who crows over me when I acknowledge my own inaccuracy,
yet his calumny is trumpeted over and over, louder and stronger and

I am – repulsed

by the reek of his scent.

It stinks of crushed ambition yet

he sleeps like a cat, fat and complacent.

I am – anxious

that there skulk among us skeptics. infecting us, 

spreading dis-unity, conflating servility with trust.