We are getting stranger each minute.

My body is minutely
like a stranger

infected with some alien, incorporeal strain.

Rats in a maze of cages
chewing the maize they’ve been given

in a deliberate way.

Unaware they’ve been sedated
by the harmless
charm of indecision.

Rage against these malevolent cogs.

Rage against the clock face bearing

the bones of Sisyphus 
in a stranglehold.

Burn away this twisting
of apathy.

If I’m wrong, 
then loudly and strong,
members of the universe’s jury

prove to me
my sanity,

bathe me in an idolater’s perspective.

Life didn’t erect a force field to
shield me,

I’m just here for the ride along,

standing out in the throng
like a sweater vest in a Jay-Z

I will fight
unlike Daniel in his sacrificial den;

so I say we let bygones
be pythons
and infect our veins
with the
desperation of dying men.

Willie Watt


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