Talons

it's messy out here

old soul eyes

and talons

instead of hands

mediocre men

make mistakes

as the world

bleeds slowly

into an eternal

internal

bruise.

Of their own undoing.

Doing

cultish cliques

call for change

in the wrong

direction.

but busier brains

melt slowly -

ice cream

on a sunday afternoon

Tainted by the sub-

par

so small

so ghoulish

so sudden

merit based

mediocrity

who tells you -

you make the call?

The laurate

Of

Nothing

Much

At all.

can't quite

put your finger

on an introduction

you've been clueless

for

so

long.

Yet you prevail

You always prevail

The master,

Of a domain

You

Claimed

As your own.

Rubber stamped and

Signed

Before

Sealing with the rubber

kiss,

Of your

Own over-egged

and wanton

Ineptitude.

Your need -

desperation to scratch

scratch-scratch-

Leave a mark.

Be heard -

Heard. Above all

Else.

Your insecurity

And incompetence -

The death

Of us.

All.

We suffocate.

Creativity

Stifled

By your

Staid

Existence.

He who shouts loudest

Whines the most.

Like a goat

Caught

In the barbed wire

Of

More talented men.

Is revered

As a God -

Nothing more than

Burnished plastic.

Sickly neon.

Nodding in the back of

an Audi.

Jaundiced and ill.

A false idol.

You are everywhere-

And nowhere at all.

In the sinews of the walls that

Smother.

The wheels of the train

Tremoring forward through

The thick,

Embankment of dirt.

In the water poured from

A lead laden

Tap.

Slowly poisoning

The masses.

The leader of a pack

Of wolves

Dirty and cowed.

With dead eyes

And wagging tails.

Desperate in their

Need for

Validation

From a King

Without a

Crown.

Or

Thorns.

Just talons

and the inccessant squack

of a startled duck

claiming

power.

And control.