Amulets

Bearing weak amulets, our chests tattooed with meaningless symbols,
we wrestle powers we no longer comprehend, desiring impossible
victories for ethereal spoils and gains that are shrouded in mystery.
With faithless devotion we pursue unknown goals, whose incipient
boundaries emerge from a fog of confusion to trip us up; send us
sprawling face-first into one another’s paths, cursing temporary allies
and nursing minor flesh wounds as if death blows from mortal enemies.
A pitiful generation, our power to reason atrophied by drinking the
insipid liquor of the marketers, from eating the media’s banal froth:
we gaze pitifully at our plethora of screens, silently begging them to
tell us that everything is all right, that catastrophes are far, far away;
that those drone strikes, disasters, epidemics and explosions lie
across distant oceans, confined to impenetrable cultures, fed to us as
mere TV dramas to accompany our instant dinners, beard oils, Snapchats

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