Changing Gears

Sam sung: "A Change Is Gonna Come." So many since then. The politics of pain and gain, all the smashed windows, the struck dumb widows. Mind-works unearthing the terminal. The young riddled with old slugs turn to the black hooded judge imploring hands or clenched fists revolving around forever sad eyes. Inevitable change leaving town to seek new ways to anesthetize yesterday, drag racing across tomorrow, a classic Corvette mowing down fentanyl induced death masks. Cords drowning in a levee, saccharine tunes battering brick walls with a blind and brainless remorse. The dead have walked away disgusted with the dying light. Change is a ‘coming and it looks like a killer clown lurking in the front yard of every sane asylum.