From the confining opening space
Of rods and cones; I interpret color-coded
Schemes bathed in the blood of the poor.
The potentially insolent form of what’s really
Going wrong.

Gazing upon images accented with
The tainted ideology I’ve constructed, to pose
Hypothetical circumstances for advancing the
Fall from grace worn into the flesh of any aging
Mother’s face; working as hard as possible
To support the seed infected by a monopoly like
Control on their psyche…

Funneled in through a prism of
Conspiracy, pirating the privacy of American
Citizens too desensitized to speak, after the visions
Infiltrate their minds. I’m finding quotes, and
Quotas, statistics accumulating into a puddle of
Nutritious fuel for a machine working independently
Through the media, and covertly with in our society…

My optic nerve needs to be severed,
Separated from my meticulously analytical mind,
So time doesn’t seem so painful, so I may feel the
Rain disguising my tears, so I may witness my reflection
With out introspectively feeling persecuted, when no
One expects anything from me anyways…

Reading between the lines, uncovering
Their design; a structured echelon of monumentous
Proportions, distorting my personal beliefs, because
The weight is too heavy for a frail frame, trapped in a
Game of survival. Everything arrives on a heavy silver
Platter.

The head of the Baptist speaks, the strength
Of Che’s guerillas push past my fantasies, the
thunderous tones of Malcolm awake me from my
Slumber, and I’m reborn resentful. Placed upon hell
On earth, transcribing antiquity into layman’s terms…

Reflecting on modern day events, while the
Horses of the apocalypse gallop along the furrowed path
Of my crinkled brow. Disheveled because I’m deep
In meditation, hoping to eliminate the castrated sense
Of never procreating, or nurturing the ambivalent
Movement towards dissension.

The nerve impulses turn pictures into memories.
A vast library of the things I’ve read and seen. Melted
Down and tempered into words of steel, but I want complacence,
I want the insanity to end, because I’m just another
Man, standing behind the barriers of rods, and cones,
Any apathy for myself is gone. I’m persecuted by no one
But time, while trying to create rebuking rebuttals
From images, which will later become my words,
My world…