comfortable in our living
rooms, on our sofas
with our coffee tables
in our houses
and our condos
and our apartments
and our dorm rooms
with our beer bottles
and our wine glasses
and our pain pills
and our anti-anxiety pills
and our anti-depressants
and our bongs
and our bowls
and our joints
and our pipes
and our lines
and our needles
and our i-phones
and our remote controls
and our laptops
and our Thai food
and our Indian food
and our Mexican food
and our sushi
and our pizzas
and our burgers
and our fries
and our pies
and our binge-watching Netflix
and our football games
and our basketball games
and our baseball games
and our soccer games
and our NASCAR races
and our tennis matches
and our golf matches
and our YouTube
and our Facebook
and our Instagram
and our Twitter
and our Snapchat
and our Amazon
and our wives
and our husbands
and our children
and our parents
and our friends
and our jobs
and our coworkers
and our bosses
and our yoga
and our meditation
and our surfing
and our paddle boarding
and our gyms
and our weightlifting
and our Crossfits
and our mud-runs
and our marathons
and our triathlons
and our houses of cards
and our games of thrones
and mountain bikes
and our dirt bikes
and our pick-up games
and our pick-up trucks
and our sports cars
and our dive bars
and our micro-brews
and our Whole Foods
and our Co-ops
and our concerts
and our parties
and our dinners
and our banquets
and our gasoline
and our oil
and our fracking
and our taxes
and our stocks
and our bonds
and our savings
and our debt
and our credit
and our wins
and our losses
and we are lost,
and alone
and afraid of shadows
with nowhere to go
and we could cut off our fingers
and forget our toes
and still count the friends
we can really count on
in a pinch
and we are chained to an idea
and we live in fear
and we were told to go shopping
and that revenge is the answer
and we’ll walk all night to cure cancer
but bat no eyes
as we kill millions
and pretend that we’ll win
and pretend that it is a contest
and pretend it’s not conquest
and we watch the seconds tic
and tock
and the clock strikes twelve
and it’s September Twelfth
and the flags rise again
in the morning
and the bombs still fall
on the mourning
and we need to stay numb
to silence the drums of war
and silence the cries of the poor
and to believe American folklore
soitgoes1984 