Idle Genocidal

Or; Guilt's Suspension

Idle Genocidal

Our hands -
Branded by the doorknob

I strike a match,
Letting it burn down
To the treads of my fingers

The dead ends of a dream
Erasing silence, with 
Curtained screams 
of complicity

This is guilty work -
That much
Goes without saying

Goodbye to identity,
Goodbye to everything

Our collective cancer 
Cascades and plumes
In polyps of benign disaster

The tidal waves of plaster
Defying gravity
- In the French fashion
(Designing surrender)

Asphyxiation follows,
In downward drafts of 
Revolution 
Folding,
Over revolution
- But with no answer

The bullets, following suit -
Left to patina
At the green alter
If only for a moment, before
Striking anywhere - but here...