Jester of Progress
Powdered blue lurking
in the poisoned eves,
eyes red from gray vapor.
Yes, just the gray vapor.
But a teardrop gives you away.
Jinxed again, I suppose.
Violet hues worm their way
into your pixel-fractured mind;
you try to strike,
but the zeal is gone.
You want what you had back
before the money-maze
and the war architecture.
Back before the blue egg broke
your family in pieces. No more.
But there’s something arcane in the water–
in the air, it’s moving
upward in puffs of color.
You’re no hero. You were a fool
to hope that things could be good.
but maybe you could still destroy
what’s been rotting the lanes,
like sugar in a tooth,
all dressed in crisp blues.
Solemnity never worked anyway.
Why not bejewel the toxic revolution?
Make it flash. Make it colorful.
You will be the jester of progress,
so show no contrition.
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