The world has become intertwined,
a neighborhood of spite houses,
with border guards under every rock,
peering in every window,
sifting through your trash,
and ripping bits from tossed out letters to wave in vicious triumph.
They stand watch for the mutant
and burn bits of petulance like coal.
Living in a spite house you learn to ignore the damp, the derision and the restraints
(pretty bracelets made of steel)
and the binding may be thin
like glue poured on your hands
but it pulls tight as it dries and soon the cracks appear.
Can’t you take a joke?
curators of your opinion,
and standard bearers of the Right
according To the Holy Writ of (my)Self.
And those voices raised for clarity
in self defense
are shot down with flaming arrows.
And as they struggle feebly on the ground
are told it was for their own good.
The sky is too big
for you to fly in unaccompanied