Gullible

What makes us believe
that we now live the truth?
What makes us suppose
this is the best of times?

We don't learn anything,
we don't know anything,
we don't understand anything.

We live,
we only live,
in grey convolution one day,
in yellow swagger another
and in green promise the most—but stripped of logic.

They manipulate us,
humiliate us, pen us in.
They speak to us absolute as
simple arithmetic and we swallow it whole.

Do we hold information and hope
or are we just livestock before the screen?

We know nothing new,
we still cannot fathom one another
without knowing where we're bound.

We don't think,
we merely echo in a world we believe is knowable...
and despised...
Ghosts grow stronger
as we lower our arms.