You’re Picking a Fight…and You’re Losing That Fight

Why hold them so tight?

Why not let them go into the wild world

for which they are not prepared?

Why argue their nation of smoke, mirrors?

Aided by machines into an early grave,

buried under rounds of unspent ammunition,

cameras at the ready,

revolution of righteous ignorance.

When the air clears,

the unshaved wave

returns home, confused, provisional victors,

keepers of a false faith.

When the police arrive,

they do not run.

This is because they

have never understood the luxury of choice.

You’re Picking a Fight…and You’re Losing That Fight

Sock it to me

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