poetry isn't for The People™

brash poeticism in vandals,
mort virtues, lazy hoodoo
_____ and our rivals
_____ copy our cocktails

drunk on drams, flyaway night
moot-point bullet frags
out of motion, 
 out of the way
stay the safe ones
no eyes behind all heads

a distance: hindsight, 
all 20/20 in orange-red-blue, 
becomes utopic in a while

mazy streets
curl fingertips
serrated, because we had to

somebody had to go and we do too