Election

The world is falling at my feet

Funny how the pieces look like skin,
leprous from a dying man; the disease
of boils that is the human condition.

The rain is like acid on my face

spit from the bile ducts of angry men,
thrown into the pit, dumb and blind,
and told to stand and make decisions.

No good can come of this

abandoning our better instincts for a bandage
called guile, adult babies sucking pacifiers
filled with opiates, attempting to deny impotence.

Lunatics are falling at my feet

screaming incoherent; oracles quick copy
all their meaningless utterances, selling
them to postulates as dogma truth.

The populace simpers and slobbers at their feet

grateful for the release, the numbing sensation
as the drugs take over, the stasis calm that comes
from the panacea of no longer having to think.