Up There

People coated with the energizing tactless anger,
Covered with the blank white rage.
Attempts at drill sergeant control and order
Since pure peace does not seem possible.
A gavel presses people into the floor.
So many flow through rivers full of jagged rocks.
Up—empty sky that people pray to—
A child god, perhaps?
Playing with the earth,
Fooling with the people—
Isn't that fun?

Me? I hide from fundamentalist miasma—
Vapid lectures of virtue,
Vituperative demands to save a sinful soul,
Or flummery full of sickening verve.
I see people hidden inside a carapace of strong beliefs,
Unwavering, closed-minded.

A dove of peace—white crap on bricks—impossibilities.
A globe riddled full of holes,
Flies and pigs and blood.
Kids quarrel—
Fighting adults and tell those kids to stop.
Stupidity imprecates the world.

And an angel, I think, must be a person in a nightmare—
One person trying to answer everything.