They’re filling milkshake cups
with quick-dry cement,
this a placebo, a substitute,
for those who prefer to throw bricks.
Everyone is a different version
of no one: a black mask, a white mask.
A leviathan made of a million
tiny zygotes spawned within itself.
Where is the ripcord
to slow this rapid descent?
Eyes like an aberration of lenses,
faces lost in the moire of similar striations,
these blended shadows just mirrors
facing less and less focused reflections.
The cultish incantations shouted
across barriers and sidewalks,
stay or leave, be made great again,
no hate no fear, all cops are bastards.
The two sides of the coin
shall never be met,
except in the hellish blister air
of the smelter and the molding,
where the molten remains of the past
are rejoined and recoined,
with each side stamped anew
by another unseen version of truth.