draft

Waves of cruelty
Unleashed again
We drown
Or we swim,
swept along in the scummy waters.

Corpses pass by,
and smelling the decay,
I could let myself sink beneath the water,
just to escape the reality of death.

Voices ring out,
confused voices,
and above the crowd,
the master's voice,
transmitted by a thousand priests of pollution and decay,
a thousand voices singing a song of cruelty,
promising nothing,
threatening punishment for our failures to be rich,
as they are,
in the service of the cruel ones,
the fat ones,
the ruling ones,
living high above us,
not deigning to notice us,
except insofar as,
they can steal from us what little we still have.

This is a recipe,
and a plan,
like a baseball bat.
But no skinhead ever managed with such exquisite coordination,
and such arrogance
to steal life from the living,
and crush hopes.

And I hear voices singing the chants of market and wealth,
true-believers,
eager advocates of cruelty in the name of someone's version of justice,
blind believers,
hopeful and enthusiastic,
willing participants,
and able to blame you or me,
because,
they say,
we do have democracy,
after all.