Dirt Simple

Dirt Simple 9/12/2014

Fiction can be a hoot

But the truth is a horror

Irrational, cruel,

Unhinged and deadly.

You can always buy

What someone else is selling

Or you can sift the dirt

And find out for yourself.

Outside

And all around

In a million different ways

Every single moment

And every single day.

If you can’t tell the truth

Then you have no freedom

And if you try to do what is right

Then you will be the hated. 

The sacrifices are made

Every single hour

Even if we did not hear

And no one said a word. 

You can count on this

That the worst men are worshiped

Just like the little gods of old

Now cast in resin. 

Take a number

And wait your turn

As we nod our heads in agreement

Dumb and afraid. 

Bu, if  you are awake

Then maybe you can know

That all of this

That we were fed

Was nothing but a lie.     

Let others contort themselves

To conjure up a story

Desperately trying to preserve

The same old distortions.

But if you want more

Then you had better pay attention

Separating yourself

From what is wrong. 

Even the insane

Have a plan

And even demons

Know God. 

But if they know

Then there are no accidents

Because even a guess

Is sometimes right. 

But this also  

Is no accident

As we were brought forth

To see

And to witness. 

The bones call out

From deep within a cave

The secret of deep memory

Fresh and green.