Strangers, rarely as strange as the preconceptions we arrange

gather, miraculously appearing at every whiff of rebellion  visions amongst timeless refusal, delusions of denial, illusions of progress  Our only real foes existing in distant palaces and parliaments Yet some of us washed away in a wave of blood gushing from the throats cut in the name of individual success building crude rafts in the cascade to escape blue collar jobs or less traitors to nature enchanted by the structured modern dream but ignoring the human dream that has existed and will exist long after the last stones of wall street are engulfed by the same tide in which it gestated And then was born diseased, grotesque, sockets decayed, naked vertebrae, and too many arms allowing too many greedy hands to grasp blindly at passerbys who stop to gaze phased and nearly dazed  impaled on the white picket fences, dying as soon as we accept our fate with digit twitches of doubt until the rigor mortis of irreversible complacency set in smothered in the suburbs, on a quiet culdesac, not a drop of patriot blood, seems to bring us back And those who die while waiting, for the right time to arrive, we let them rot in public, on Madison and Five If we have not done enough, to fix what we despise, at least be a lesson, to other timid eyes For once we spanned dimensionsfor once we might not diefor once we might have hiddenfrom the ever-seeing eye