There is a world that I hate.
I have praised the world many times,
but there is a way we tell stories that
I reproach: the violence, the bleakness,
“they’re gonna kill him”
And all the rest of the blood.
We make these brutal shows because we sin
The original scourge burned in our bones
All the crime and conspiracy you can bear,
the wanted sinful sight ever born anew.
We made the Coliseum, after all. But
the egregiousness is the modern affliction.
We bear the mark in our minds
We write the lines on our foods
Foods of the mind, known coffin
We east of health, eating death
Logical if not a Christian,
But wholly inedible for us.
Maybe we are just moral atheists,
Acting as if there isn’t someone up there
Who wants more for us than this:
Diverging from the standard patterns of
Noble, faithful, honorable, very good
Lost in bullets and bleeding and suicide
and a mind that figures out who needs to die
instead of how everyone can be saved.
There is no, there is no, there is no
Way around this, other than stopping.
Stop celebrating death. Stop rejoicing.
Stop burning our way through the wreckage of humanity,
brutality, savagery, that which ruined the world,
which rent heaven and earth until the end of all things,
that whole wretched, hopeless vision that glorifies evil
as a warning, a warning untaken in the massive multitudes
of deaths. so many deaths, so many fictive lives snuffed,
making us complicit in the murders of fictional and real
people, with lives cut short by knowledge of “acceptable”
and “unacceptable” from TV that no one thinks you should act on,
these shows that train us to believe no one, no one, none
and to solve all our problems with a 9mm to her pretty head.
guts smeared on the window from the outside, artistic shot,
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