thus is found the selves in the expanse beyond the jungle
the great rivers stream a flood of deficience into its midst
pulled in by its noxious foul smell disguised by hospitality and security
in actuality a sense of loathing of self and others
loathing the beings that arrive on the rivers
occupied with their insignificant reputations
loathing their own selves for perpetuating the great disaffection
of the expanses and communities outlying
the great loathing generates contempt
contempt between individual cells
contempt between they them and those
contempt
contempt
contempt
the general sense of contempt that transcends all other emotion
below its skin all else might be a better worlds
yet there exists
any given realm
quite similar
to this
and its contempt
and the loathing
of self

Standing on the new tower’s hill I see
The gap newly formed in the patchwork of trees
Destined to be filled by some monumental block
A new investment in this town’s intrinsic stock
And then to the west, a quick mile to the left
The bridge is dismantled, creating unrest
Among the drivers, driving down to the markets
To purchase what meager knick-knacks they can wrest
And I hear behind me the bells of the red school
And then thousands speak out against the likes of the blue school
The same takes place a few miles to the north
Each failing to consider their own lacking worth
And I hear the sirens sing their seductive songs
To those who spectate the fighters of wrongs
Fighting the men who wish and who dare
And have the sheer bile to actually care
And every Saturday night, Julian’s words ring in my ear

“And Doggen can testify to my claim
That the Christians of Yatesbury are Christian in vain”

And I testify my claim that such as well is here
And those who chance a glance to me shall claim
That I am one of the untouchables and hopelessly insane
Insane may be true, and untouchable, yes
But the same cannot be said for this critical address
For who else within will take note of what those
Without have said. And what they say flows
Into my mind, and with my observations have proven
That what I see from my hill is the land of dead men
This great place to live, raise a child to be
Just another small piece in contempt’s collective body