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Have I not marched enough alone, with a flag, but no home?
Does my spine bend, not break, from the scorn of my own?
My most jagged break from you is declaring myself Lord God of that which encompasses me.
I’ll still need you to avoid stepping on my sneakers.
I’ve found myself frying pieces of other lives, then getting mad at the meat for being red.
I’m still mad at the weak for being dead.

For what is more grotesque than a beautiful recluse?
Why, he’s worse than a mad man, is he not?
A mad man fuels the fire, and fans the flames
of your sociopoliticoreligicos, be they brutal or tame. 
A recluse has amputated a part of you, as we’re all connected. Sniff the ether and respect it.
What if you needed someone to agree, or a vote to be cast, or a soul to be saved?
Even Jefferey Dahmer found Jesus in prison, and his sins were washed as white as snow.
But that cursed recluse. He watches you, doesn’t he? 
I bet he turns on the news, and watches you cry over rock stars, and hold signs for candidates, and scatter like rats when a gun man opens fire.
He’s probably a damned good shot. He could have saved you.
But no, not the recluse. He has his groceries delivered, and he eats his popcorn, and he plays himself in chess while you sit in bumper to bumper traffic.
Just who in the f*** does he think he is?

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