Carnival of Conformists

“The ‘reason we’re here?’
What a waste
of words to impart,”

say the so(u)l(’)d-(y)ours, with their Canons—
regalia worn-out—sore-boors
with nothing to shoot,
and no spark:

“The prison we wear
has a place…
it grinds to in the dark.”

Say, you want a halo?—
say you want,
say you want a way out, too;
pray you want—
pray you’ve got—“What it takes…”

cold Reason and Fear—
(must replace)
“What kindness!” in the heart

plays to. “What a thing, though!”
pray to what,
pray to what you always do—
pray for what
players want—what they say

“You!” need; ’you see how
“It!” becomes what
you want, too?

A Carnival of Conformists,
in uni(s)on, you walk-out on Consciousness;
un-(Soci)able “Me!”-Divas,
you skinned-cats without a single Thought,

how miraculous an accident
I’m considered a “Peer” among you;
how different ’tis what we want.