I'm neither ~

                    puppeteer

                               nor

                    marionette

                                                  Brilliant idiot

                                                  nor madman

          the battle’s ragin

                               and

                        soldiers

         fakin

         dem dead

                                                 who you gonna trust . .  ?

                                                 when you can't run

                                                 fast enough

                                                                         t o   e s c a p e

                                                                      t h e   m a t r I x

                         imprisoned ~

                                                in some sort

                                               of concocted

                                                       entropy

                                     where degree of disorder

                                                        only increases

                                                                with time

your face ~

                   in the dust

                              and

      someone’s yelling

                                              Y o u   M u s t  .  !

                                                           before it turns to mud

                                                          the blood mixed in

                          before it hardens

                                       into clay

                                for the kilns

C h o k i n   !  ~

                               can't cough

                             hard enough

                                                            to dislodge

                                                      the discomfort

                                                    from your throat

                                                                             one leg

                                                                      in the boat

                                                                        the other

                                                                   in the water

                            y o u ’ r e    s h a r k    b a i t  .  . !

                           the anchor

                          weighs

                          around your neck

                                             s a l t   w a t e r

                         e n t e r s   y o u r   l u n g s

the smell of fear ~

                            its taste

                        its fervour

                    its addiction

                                                   seeps through

                                                         every pore

                                 like Cocaína

                                                 in Medellín

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