America at 5:30 AM.
The smell of swamp and refinery on the New Jersey Turnpike.
The air hangs dirty.
The six rows of razor-wire girding a prison in Newark.
The half-hour wait for "Elite Access" check-in.
The half-hour wait to get through "Elite Access" security.
The surly, be-gloved "security" people.
Anthrax?
Or government support of the petro-chemical industry?
The people moving like cattle, having bought the fear.
The fear that is our opiate.
Beamed out every second via ever-present flat panels.
1 comment:
you can make the darkest reality sound frighteningly poetic...
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