Call off your righteous gods; I
did not blaspheme.
You have carved a 12-foot nemesis
from a pebble an inch across; you
are smelling brimstone of your own delusion.
It is real, but not here; you see
the fire the next town over.
Here, your toes
feel quicksand as concrete and
hear a symphony as slaughter.
stand on slights imagined,
step on simple Samaritans,
press on buttons YOU have drawn, you
hypocrite of the hippocratical.
Stand the FUCK down.