The voices revert to static
Each time
I look for a witness
Or reach
For my tape recorder
A young girl and a preacher
Trapped in reverb
Chant curious things
He watches us
He knows
The voices live
In a fifty watt Budokon
Make me wonder
How symptoms
Of mental slippage manifest
The rest of reality
Appears to be going about
Its business
Wake and bake breakfasts
Cocktails for lunch
Happy trigger cops
Civilians sporting Kevlar
Another prison built
Ebola in the backyard
The voices in my amplifier
Are my only real concern
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