(horizon/a rant)


By Mike O’Connell
they are if an ilk
off key
lost without logic
adrift in history’s swamps
waiting for a wind
that never comes

they pay each other
in nefarious ways
flitting along
webs of illusion
juicing victims
sucking them dry

grooming offspring
to seek the same blood
the blood of the common
charged by our trapped and
screaming spirits
wondering why
they cannot see the horizon


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