Poetry

Poetry of vengeance.
This was not any pulverized
version of new memes, the
digital eating
of the truth.

We are not moving at all.
A hidden rope becomes a rattler,
frightens you from the
narcissistic stupor.

Every day a scam erupts.
The veil remains intact, but the
undercurrent explores the path
to kill you.

There was no music left in
legs. A black window jumps
over the fence. A sharp
sting brings the angina.