Imprisoned Liberty

Unleash the barrels of hopelessness. Become acquainted with hazardous bliss.

Engage all mind erasers.

Was it a mis-doing? A sacrilege? Disrespect? Butcher-knife irreverence?

Gather the severed limbs of normalcy for kindling.

Shut the door. Seal the windows. Vacate your heart.

You’re down to a shadow, a fading shadow with permanent cracks.

There’s no sickness but you are dead. No handcuffs but you can’t move.

Hearses, going backwards, carrying coffins filled with chaos and confusion ensure the continuation of the parade.

We sense our deepest, utmost intimacy with evil, poised on our doorstep.

Our spirits are giving up life and toppling over. Hope has collapsed to its depth.

Coming . . .

the torture of the 4th of July.