Perception: A politicians Quarrel

By Jonathan Wirth

As the cultists wave their fate with bodies facing towards the sun,

I’ll sit on a hill side,

staring,

laughing at their ignorance

yet feigning the understanding of this gatherings significance

through abyssal eyes,

yelling through an opaque mouth,

because I contradict myself at every moment I breathe. 

I am the hypocrite every moment these

veins

course with streams that I

depend on

to continue these empty promises

and unparalleled bullshit. 

I sleep at night,

Like everyone else,

after prayers to the mantis god,

just like everyone else,

to harvest my soul,

allowing me to join the ship that isn’t there,

and smile as it departs to crowds that can’t wave back. 

As I continue to inhale monoxide on drives to nowhere,

I will remember to forget the Golden star.