scream stealing

privilege is a constant thought
those who have and those who have not
once they
the they
all else that slithers across the history books
and stalks parks and dirt roads

the they that grows like a rose on high
tree topped mounts

the other
what one is not
what one could never be

two
or three
or less and less
the infinity

what difference does it have from a dream
where you go to scream and it isnt there

the country bows its head into delicately arranged guillotines
and reaches around with withered hands
cramped with the work of creation
to pull its own rope

clunky things bowl down the farmlands

and splash in warm sands

things are getting better
thats what they say

but what has changed
and what will stay

there is something to be wanted
much to crave
understanding to deprave
clunk
clunk
clunk

where the headless roam
and can't find their way home

and hope

well

there is always that