the world hangs 

on lies 

and bullshit keeps 

it spinning 

beneath the 

woven veils 

we advertise 

pretentiousness and 

profitable personas

command dead armies

and smoke is sought 

at the price of fresh air

how rare good people

how rare bad ones 

how rare an authentic being

their chaos

is domesticated,

ordinary,

and xeroxed  

how rare is

a warm smile

in a landfill of 

moving mouths 

how rare anything

professing purity 

without a care

for the bullshit 

and lets its love

pour out…