On the stocks,
guillotine chop,
hanging, stoning,
tortured groan.
See-through screen,
what lies within.
Our methadone
to Middle Ages heroin.
Methodically doled by professional peddlers our
witch-flamed soap operas and
news-storied car wrecks.
Safe behind glass,
we peep,
buy another
Evening Echo.
Throw another piece
at the poor bastard on the stocks.
