the mass mailing of cells
has not reached the people (yet).
a storm of wills (or lies)
delayed the final delivery
& the people
received empty boxes
in the mail. mine again sits
at the doorstep.
i look out the window
& the steam is getting wider,
empty intellectuals
continue to shuffle past
as plaster-faced zombies
(& spies). they smile.
the tv behind me
beleaguerly broadcasts condolences
to the collective conscience
(who lost one of
its members today)
a tele-evangelist yells
mocking me & awakening
my hypnagogic thoughts
“cells have been lost,
the people will never be free,
send money.”
behind my cold curtain
peeking
i contemplate my own fate
to continue staring
a mind lost to its own freedom
or leave
the front door stands open
to receive another,
dried blood stain.
that is warm air.
the people are
dumbfounded & delighted
the cells have not reached them
(yet).
Mark David Jordan, 2011
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