Perception Management

Tight rope trauma can shatter anything

with veins, especially marble


reflections of our own true

selves. Rock is impermanent.  Mountains


ignited for the truth of what we take

from a lie.  I am pity in your face.  I am


minutes wasting away to grief.  I am

System.  I am pitch as in dark.  I am


constructive ambiguity.  Top secret

process of prophets who are


fearful that what reins is Perception

Management in a post-political operation


dictated by the idea of what we are

conditioned to value.  The problem be


damned.  I am

the Peach.   The one


every man should just look

at, because in the center of me is


the root of the Mother of Battles.  I am

manifestation.  I am pit in place of womb.  Look to


the Night of Broken Glass.  That is the night

we failed our own kind.  Everything we know


after our failings has drawn a clear line straight

into the grave.  Ask your verses what can be


made from the ashes of our existence.  There is no

Apollo—not even in a poem—for Aleppo. Tell


me.  I am no longer

afraid. I only seek the truth


through understanding while setting

the senselessness ablaze.  What little I really understand


about death. Sometimes it seems

like it is a sort of salvation acquired


when you survived enough.  What if Hell is exactly

what we have created for Earth?  There are no Gods


controlling events that come and go like waves of fever

reframing the narrative to always reflect a counter intuitive


fabrication of reality?  What if we just stop

caring about lies?


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