There is disagreement

There is disagreement

But in the abstract

There is an abundance

Of realities.

Illusion is as real

As the notion

Of fairness in capitalism

Society in refined circles.

The books on the shelves

Fall away

Leaves flutter to the ground

The word is whispered

Shot through with danger

People who linger

Are caught up in danger

Nothing is ever as real

As the lies we tell

About ourselves.

Babies are not the finished article

No human is

Too many are lost

To the mathematics of intolerance

Shaped by disease and disorder

Parked on benches

To read the back pages

Of old newspapers.

Report thy neighbour

Deliver unto others

Before they deliver unto you.

Some find it strange

To talk about difference

As a good thing

Using sign language

To predict the future.

Nobody believes a soothsayer

Until they are mentioned

In despatches,

Names hold power

Meaning is electric

The writing is always

A blood relative.

It scratches at the conscience

Until an inkling of truth

Bleeds out of the flesh

Making a mess on the floor

For the foolhardy to step into

And come a cropper.

The taller the story

The longer it takes

For the pages to become

Unglued,

An entanglement

Of misremembered truths

To confound the mind

Of the weary thinker.