I would like to gather somewhere,
Move with
Belong to
Partake in something


Without the bologna of
A group of well-dressed men
Sitting on the front row
Reveling in their hierarchy.

Stages are set
For the well-dressed.
Megaphones handed
To those with stories
Of their own greatness.
Speeches detailing great exploits,
Exhales of ego,
Leaders puffed up
Strutting like peacocks,
Though less beautiful
And more ridiculous.

The thirst for power
Cannot be quenched

Some in the crowd are awed.
Some know better.


The underground
Holds promise.
Listen to the humble,
Cherish the lowly,
Sit with the oppressed.
Look for the ordinary
Abiding elsewhere
Far from
Empty promises,
Reputation-enhancing machines,
Appetites for fame.

The circus.