Reality folds 

like cold magic 

origami of sorts 

we play games with people like they are sports

our retorts 

litter more than plastic 

we get sick 

sicker than we are laid in our casket 

What happened to the child 

in our hearts 

We are nothing more than happy shoppers with shopping carts

This reality is an exchange of ideas of money of time 

but we can’t see beyond the lines 

that take control

take our minds our bodies our souls 

we tell our selves they are words

but we aren’t even as free as the birds 

which fly free in the sky 

we are the prophecies 

with our opportunities 

we our the sickness we accumulate 

we are the best and the worst 

the sanguine curses

Hell which lives with hope 

but hope is a bird that lives in a cage

singing in its hopeful rage…