Cez (the anticorruption drive)

Bear me home – and not for long it says –
By dome of this moronic church the ways
Your anger swings are both the path we take,
And punishment. It is a curse to see this clearly,
It is in fact the loss at stake that barely holds it
Close, pulls the edge together; like the puzzle
We suppose could come apart at seams, make
It seem like we deserve the hints of pressure
Struck our way. Dead for taste is dead for rest
In this sad state, this slim condition. Which
Is why we learn to fake or stage the break,
Give-up the load, abandon senses to the
Need, the mouth we’re breathing in.
Who we kill are who we’re living for,
And somewhere in this paradox,
Exhaustion’s just another form of
Break norm in all preventing,
All disparaging event, non-
Typical prevention of a
Most demanding drive
Pretending accidents
Are hazards – cez a
Rare disaster and
Us here, merely
Dead in passing.

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