The Greatest Advantage Of Formal Attire Is The Ability To Conceal Heavy Weaponry

Tip the hat
But we can see behind your back
Where you are brandishing your sword
To strike the tragic little masochistic amorists

And in fact
I slipped a tray beneath my slacks
In case you had a sudden urge
To take a shot across this heavy sided playing field

But we are not the petty little thieves
Stealing hearts and leaving roses in their places
We are calibrating spaces

No, we are not the foolish ones, it seems
Waging wars and leaving cratered devastation
Like some morbid recreation

Take a bow
But are they clapping for you now
It seems the crowd has turned around
To read the teleprompter leaking through the velveteen

Faking out
The loyal masses with their doubts
Is getting harder with so
Many who believe in sewing hearts upon their sleeves

But we are not the decorated whores
Selling beauty in the dens of conversation
We are tracing desperation

Oh, we are not the serpentine parade
With our tongues around the fruit of policy
We are the uninvited free



Clutched, I find our picket signs are
Painted hearts on wicked minds
Graffiti love–this sleepless town
A neon drug with wired sounds
The weak, the few, the scattered are
The warriors of tomorrow’s coup
Indifference: the enemy
The power: us. The weapon: you.
The cause is what we make of it
With future eyes’ unsilenced gaze
Across the codes we write of love
Across the viruses of hate
We pen a history to come
A melody as yet unsung
And cast our vote beneath the sheets
Of being free–of being we