The over milking of the cloudy minded beast
Has caused it to reel in its own instability
To the point of no return
This is a long slow war,
Where bullets travel at the speed of memories
And explosions erode a lifetime
A time of talking to a God who never answers
Except to use your voice to admonish your insolence
A conscience that borrows a narrative from a bible story
Like a nervous subplot thrown down on the grill of fortune
And dealt from a deck of cards
About a slave who knows the might of his master
Yet dreams of warm seas and green blue eyes…
Oh, Brave Promethean, chained to the rock
Your sweet love pecked daily
By well dressed vultures descending from the skies
Who swallow ideas and deposit them
As piles of skyscrapers and slicks of asphalt
Hatching new creatures of wanton desire
Those soft bodied cephalopods
Treading in the undergrowth
Beaks wide open, grasping at the sky
Squealing this cacophony of hunger
No time to dream of island worlds
Of warm, gentle waves
And a night full stars...
Because here, above the murky gases
The vultures hover endlessly
