the bazaar-nest of our...silence

i don't know what stirs within me

when i see the thrust

of dead words without thought

when letters of many           jump at my throat

as an echo from garbled junk

i don't know what

                     but my stomach churns

and

my nerves feel jangled

as i race toward some escape

an escape

to a sensible Word

to a sound of sensibility

that attempts to ease the pain

the strain of ignorant sanibility

in this internationally insane world

very few own ignorance

or

acknowledge our ravaging past 

or

stare into the sup-pressed chambers

of our mass conflictive ass

where feces-manicured faces

lay hidden

sassing our flowered past

i don't know

just don't know

but feel our anguished secrets

our pretense of  god-like-nests

have poisoned our human nature

and the craziness we breed