Bullies in the psychic force field
claiming victim status
the story is out there in the deep night
beyond the blue TV screens
where the true victims huddle.

Newscasters bark forth and
Talking Heads drone it to death
in the repetition and the
horror is laundered and lost
in the steady and repetitive
and clinical monotone
and people who’re really insane
and the ones really getting killed
detonate into logistics
reduced to numbers
and rows of statistics.

Blood pumps and pulses pound fear
and adrenaline into imbalanced
body chemistries nourished by
fat and sugar and salt
and drugs and alcohol – trying
to retain how it feels to
feel normal.

Dim lights flash past
from fore to aft
along strip malls and
windowless concrete block
warehouses and used car bunkers
and fenced parking lots
like a progression of prisons
and military bases set back
into a defragmented night
the backdrop for high-speed
car chases and drug busts.

where do people live now?
where are they after dark?
where did the farms and towns go?
where have you gone
Jo Di Maggio?


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