Life

That’s the third murder machine I have seen,

Since we passed the last blasted burger king

This world is a wasteland,

Warlords and freemason’s sit adjacent

to complacent piles of flesh, and mesh with pavement

They say I’m ranting, and stark raving mad

Shaving with sharp shattered glass

Amassed are dark battered masses of matter and mind chatter

Iron clad battering rams slam through homes

While we sit watching calmly, like the clones of garden gnomes

Keep riding on chrome and being owned, a disgrace to poems

A disgrace, can't save face, a waste of deep-space, 

A waste of breath, but one man's wasted breath

Is another man's face of death

One hand laced in left, is right

One word laced in letters, cuts like a knife

One life laced in commercial strife is worth less than the fragments of spit

dripping off the tip of my spliff

Popular culture, a bunch of topical vultures

and lurching leeches