Consensus
I don’t know which reality I’m chasing.
The perversion of our celebratory Nations
is the consumerism agenda, the broth left over
after you have decided to let it dry.
Cocktails and champagne of the underworld,
terror in the searing arrangements,
once the clockwork has emerged as discriminatory,
ourselves; it is we who have become emergent,
crawling in babe’s clothing as a desperate refusal to come down
from the agenda of growth, tumbling over a refusal
to grow with age, instead of hanging on to plastic arrangements.
The never ending lights of that which we discover,
cease not to shine in the oddest of spaces,
one must recognize the order of belief,
if we are to keep with the recognition of the self.
Befitting a natural cascade,
everything falls, befitting the isolation of our era,
discriminatory agendas fall into the hands of our leaders,
non judgement becomes the only way to…
