Sore

Soft handed spades strikes clay and stone
Cries of genius echo from greasy touchscreens
Fighting futile battles with inverted pyramids of gender
Buying the working class life on layaway
To prove that not everyone is guilty of buried choices

Blisters on the larynx caked in dust and time
Calloused lips licked neurotically between lies
Manchurian romances between bright shiny cogs
Master-less dogs trotting down James Street crevasses
Smelling boulevard flowers dripping with exhaust

Century brick scowls at steel and glass churches
Where Satan peers in just after the sermon
Watching the pastor sip his overpriced bourbon
Tapping at the summons of an angry legacy
Lost progeny whipping the plastic entitlement

Low below the red lines of forefathers
Burrowing around riches and brave men
Roots decay by flashlight parties in neon dens
Laughing skeletons making minimum wage
By sitting on their hands in rapturous applause