we've flies in the room
and at every smack
their insides infest
our pride, spread across
the land in tides, waves
that can be smelt even
miles away. but that's okay
because the fat farm telecasts
it before the day is over
and the season's out.
like pests's attracted
to humming blue lights,
we fixate ourselves
to a glowing, speaking
box. obviously it's not
just opposites that
have such strong attractions.
distracted by silly
whispering and
silly notions that
hold no bearing
but attract us
with their smooth
taste which
flows like water,
easy to digest.
no contest,
not a single
worry here...
but not a single thought
with which to solve
problems that plauge
us like mosquitos
harnessing disease,
captivating millions
with their subtle bites,
everyone at ease, no
concerns over what
might swallow us whole.
i question: when might
those unnoticed giants
be full, so stuffed,
satisfied with their fill?
when will the lights turn
out and when will the fat
farm be full?
when will the sheep
stray from the flock
and when will the pigs
run from the butcher's knife?
when can we expect to see the
shepards running for their lives?
shall it ever be said
we've slapped the mosquitos
free of disease? will we
ever step back, look at
our past, and cry when
we realize:
we were all animals
under a farmer's eyes?
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