Friday, September 6, 2019

The Flags & The Machine

The flags! the flags! O Sweet Baby Jesus, flying high waving in the stiff, afternoon breeze 
One flag at every streetlight on either side of main street USA for as far as the eye can see 
Small town Americana where the God-fearing citizens cry with bloody tears of patriotism 
In barbershops hang large, old, now faded reproductions of Norman Rockwell paintings 

What if these flags were the enormous and terrible teeth of a vast, vicious and monstrous machine? 
If just beneath a preciously thin veneer of family, duty, civility and good will hides unadulterated evil?
What if the implacable, hard and cold metal of The Machine threaded itself  into the fabric of us all
Only to slough off those so piously applied layers of lie built up now over tens of thousands of years 
Sloughing us all off by simply flexing its inhuman strength like a dog shaking fleas off it's back 


Serious question: 

Would you stop waving your flag altogether or wave your flag even harder and faster then before?

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