elect(rocution)

tension
fills the air
the streets are
empty
save for
a few brave souls
willing to face
the day
in their eyes
fear lies
deeply rooted
no matter who
wins
the general feeling
is we have all
lost so much already
pandemically
paralyzed
trapped
masked
kennelled
afraid of where
the road goes next
as all is in
a state of constant
upheaval

god made man
man killed god
man kills nature
as nature
turns on man
who turns to god
for forgiveness

it is too late
the holy sepulchre
swarms
with a host of maggots
in this place
where dreams
only are birthed
to die

art will live
calcified
cave paintings
for whatever
abomination
comes next
up through
the irradiated salt
that coats the land
to ward away
evil spirits

the lost line up
at the polls
to step into
the elect-rocution
booth
as paramedics
try and resuscitate
the floundering
american dream
stabbing adrenaline
directly into
the rat infested heart
of democracy

i fear
it is too late
to create anything
but the shambling corpse
of what once was

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