by Jay Passer
at the center of the screen
your eye is directed
to the political act
the police action
the cuff of logic
as the actors rut
to the tune of $$$
and a popularity contest
based on finger digit impulse
branded by the pitch and moan
the hottest and most
sublime of the stable
a police state
a civil suit
a fat man in a white collar
come calling
with a warrant, a smile
and an accent you don’t recognize
at the start of the picture
the warm butter
the salty fragrance
of your finite body
slathered with needs
targets the stomach
located in deep space
or in the jungle
the desert
the tavern down the street
anywhere they can come for you
target audience
programmed for obedience
the plot to follow
hood ornament gold
of a limousine plummet
cliff-edge descent
cuffed to the seat

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