We are all Communists in this grim world Red in flesh and pain. We unwittingly worship our poor neighbors in affliction who submit to the paranoid, giant statue.
Our central committee’s spewing propaganda about self and others to a cowering and unheard unlistening herd.
Our military training on chrome and iron, pumping, running we prepare for the late night fight, drunken, unseeing, might.
They might win, its worth a chance to perform the goose-step dance to an internal beat commanded by our only friend who alone is with us to the end.
We drive our tiny, flesh-sized army with the mysterious frenzy of life silencing dissent, fear, and confusion and the tender, young thoughts which fill our stern minds with profusion.
These tenuous wisps which command a less central voice beyond the plan, above demand hover on the horizon of thought and infiltrate under the covers of night.
They sit around, plotting and scheming whilst we think we’re only dreaming. These stray voices, we fear ourselves, a people divided.
Some within, some without all the same people with different things to say yet we dictate but one way.
In your party line you pledge a better future, in 5-year steps with college, a job, a wife life follows the letter of your plan.
Yet the writing is on the wall in every hesitation, blurting your secret, hungry wanting, weeping in the quiet stagnation of a nation, forcibly united. Berlin is always ready to fall.
All the voters assembled for the courageous new move the body lurches forward the dry throat choking the trembling hands seeming, always out of place as the heart starts to swell with the redness in your face.
The mad vision of our fearless leader propelling an awkward self-conscious committee on the backs of silent slaves.
Our tight control loosens, finally in the grave as the silence spreads through everyone’s heads.
With psychedelic drugs and horror flicks we face the insect with a million eyes and many mouths.
These hungry, seething souls live just over the wall feeding on one another in a blind brilliant, frenzied symphony.
We tremble with defensive smiles at the awful plight of these fragmented beasts unknowing:
We see reflections of ourselves in each of their tiny mirrors a coordinated matrix of symbols this nation lives within us.
We fight the anarchy of night with the red puppet of day, but democracy is the only way.
We must work together each of us alone to hear all of our voices on mental street corners, poised and debate in free elections the course of our thoughts and actions.
Our dictators forced to submit to doubt and wonder. Through diversity, division, and confusion we will elect a happy, coordinated union.