Poem: Black Saint

The enemy of thought, friend of flattering illusion
The emptiness we sought, the corruption and confusion
Of children wrapped in metal; bonewhite sons and daughters
Silent standing legions, composed and classical for Reuters
Where the cloying kiss of privilege negates all right and wrong
For when your thoughts are simple your machinery is strong
Where born again as image, in these viral times
Imperial, provisional, in body and borderline
Their images explode, their issuance repeating
Source code underwritten, liquid crystals streaming
Through the strict geometry of channels cut in scrip
As subdued populations await a honey drip
That's bitter, black as coffee, having come from every flower
From a broken crop, ripe for this: recasting power.
With more faith in the damned than I have in the devout
It is a bad pain in my gut and I want to spit it out.
Against those standing legions, rise up, exalt your voice
For the sovereignty of soul is a constant choice
And upon harmonic ground, down among this sacred dust
Where the smoke is rising, wet on the edge with blood
Let the stage stand empty, of the image, paint it black
And if the future is a nation, let this be its flag